


Murder at Skyhold

by Connie_flint_125



Series: Dragon Age Trilogy [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age Inquisition - Fandom, Dragon Age Origins
Genre: Drama, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-03-02 00:42:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 65,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13306776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Connie_flint_125/pseuds/Connie_flint_125
Summary: A story in Varric's voice and style documenting the Murder at Skyhold.Six months after the Wedding of the Age someone is trying to kill members of the Inquisiton.





	1. Act One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aurlana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurlana/gifts).



> If you're reading this you may be confused. This was previously titled Of Demons and Mages but that title didn't fit and after over a year of not working on it I had lost the thread of the story arc.  
> If you care, I have been severely ill this past year or so, am still ill actually. I am, however feeling more in control than I was earlier so I spent time working on this to clean it up and put it back on track.  
> The plan was for once a week for the chapters, unfortunately I have to move to every two weeks. So the next chapter will be out on Monday week.  
> I offer you my humble best in the voice of Varric; which I think I'm failing at miserably but the story feels good to write.  
> Love you all.

 

          “See to it that Commander Cullen of the Inquisition gets this message.” The dwarf nodded brusquely as she took the missive from the small hand that held it. The ancient creature cackled before it continued speaking.

“Give it to Tethras; I will have a good laugh at that!” Once more it cackled, then broke into hacking coughs. “Water, Urchin! Bring me water!” The small elf that now answered to ‘Urchin’ scampered to a nearby barrel and dipped a cup into it; the dwarf left before she could see more. She didn’t need to see more; she remembered her days answering to Urchin.

            Varric Tethras watched the strange dwarf with curiosity as she approached him. She had the look of a casteless dwarf that had been exiled to the surface but she didn’t have the tattoos. She wore Carta clothing, if not their colors and she moved as if she were waiting to be attacked at any second.

He caught a flash of yellow from under her hood before she bowed and handed him a very thick folded vellum. Her voice was soft enough he barely heard her say who it was for before she turned and left with the same deliberate pacing she’d approached him with.

Varric looked down at the missive in his hand and frowned with curiosity. It was in Dwarven; _when did Curly learn to read Dwarven? More importantly, who was sending Curly messages in Dwarven? Most importantly, why did he have to deliver it to Curly_?

            _‘What the bloody hell am I doing sneaking through the fuckin’ dark?’_ The assassin asked internally. _‘Because the fuckin’ guards at the gate asked your business and then turned you away’_  Was the internal answer. Turns out that the Inquisition actually pays attention to their merchants and traders.

One should be grateful that the new Spymaster pays closer attention than the old one did; the Inquisitor was still needed after all. It did, however make the assassin’s job harder. Being paid to put an end to this particular woman was all well and good; even if it made no sense to the person paid to do the ending.

 _‘Why couldn’t I have volunteered to go after that elf?’_ This time they didn’t have an answer for themselves.

Dorian; Altus of Tevinter, scion of House Pavus, and pariah of some fame; double checked his reflection in the full-length mirror that The Iron Bull bought him the last time he was in Val Royeaux. The black-haired mage plucked an imaginary speck off the royal purple tunic he’d had made to show off his perfect tan. Dorian smiled winningly at himself in the mirror before turning, grabbing his staff and leaving his highly ostentatious room. He was running late for his weekly game of chess with the delectable; if taken, Commander of the Inquisition.

It was mid-morning in late winter; even in the Frostback mountains, spring was beginning to make an appearance. Many of the people at the keep were wearing lighter clothing than they had been just a few weeks ago and Dorian was no exception. He smiled as he passed several Orlesian and Fereldan nobles who were complaining at the lack of parties now that winter was passing.

“Sparkles!” Varric called out. Dorian stopped immediately to give him his undivided attention.

            “Yes, Varric. How may this humble mage assist you?” Dorian grinned to show his even white teeth. Varric laughed at his overblown antics.

            “Going to your game with Curly?”

            “Yes, and I’m running late.” Dorian replied.

Varric handed him a thick vellum with dwarven writing.

“Would you mind giving him this letter? I have no idea who it is from and as curious as that makes me, I have no time to work it out. I promised our illustrious Inquisitor that I’d assist her and Tiny with some issues in Kirkwall.”

Dorian laughed at the expression on the rogue's face.

            “Not really looking forward to being cooped up eh?” Dorian asked with sympathy.

            “It’s not really that; although we will be in her quarters for this,” Varric said. “It’s that I am starting to feel guilty for still being here when Kirkwall _really_ needs me.” Recognizing the sentiment of the Dwarf’s, Dorian smiled and patted his shoulder.

            “I know how you feel; but you do know Bronwynn will understand should you decide to leave,” Dorian reminded him. “By the Void, she’d probably offer to go with you to help with the restoration.” To that, Varric laughed heartily.

            “That’s why I’m still here!” Varric cried in partially mock horror. “The last thing I want is to be responsible for _Her Worship_ to feel obligated to help fix one more thing that Blondie was responsible for.” shaking his head Varric waved and headed to the rear stairwell that led to the Inquisitor’s chambers.

            Dorian waved in return as he turned around to go out the garden door. He held the door open for two maids who had their hands full of linens. The girls blushed and jabbered their thanks as they rushed through the portal. Dorian shook his head with humor as he continued on through the short hallway to the keep’s herb garden. It still amazed him how his participation in the Inquisition's defeat of Corypheus had turned him from _That Magister_ into _Hero_. He remembered the look on Revered Mother Giselle’s face when she realized those who were here in Skyhold were singing his praises instead of condemning him. It hadn’t hurt that the New Divine Victoria VI--formerly Leliana--was also touting his skills as worthy of learning.

            He shook his head to clear it of the reverie as he walked through the second door. The fragrance of the garden was soothing, and the warmth of the sun began to relax him within seconds of stepping outside. He made his way to the stone gazebo near the rear of the garden. It was so ornately carved, it appeared to be made of wood instead of stone. He gave a slight frown when he realized that Cullen hadn’t yet arrived. He knew he wasn’t _that_ late so where was the Commander?

Cullen stood at his desk holding a trio of reports with a frown on his handsome face. He heard the clock in the room chime the quarter hour and cursed. He was late for his chess game with Dorian. Shaking his head, he placed the reports back on his desk and decided he’d talk it over with Bull after his game.

            Exiting his office through the western door--the one that went directly into the keep--e knew that Solas wouldn’t mind him using the solarium as a pass through. The Library’s sitting room was quite a beautiful room with the frescos that Solas had painted adorning the walls. Bronwynn had given orders for several types of elven herbal and floral mixtures be kept in the room, so it was also very relaxing. The sitting areas had ample lighting to make it possible to read should one want to bring a book down and do so; but it was also dark enough to simply sit and relax. He knew his bride was pleased the elf decided to stay with her and the Inquisition. His knowledge of the Ancient Elves had proven invaluable over the last year.

            He passed the fireplace where Varric could usually be found and wondered briefly where he may have gotten to before he rushed through the opposite door. His blue eyes scanned the garden before turning to the gazebo where they usually set up their game. He gave a huff of breath when he saw Dorian already waiting for him in the warm air.

            “There you are, Commander!” Dorian exclaimed with jaunty humor. “I was afraid you’d decided you didn’t want to lose again,” he quipped with a jovial laugh, drawing a crooked smile from Cullen.

            “Since I won the last three games, Lord Pavus,” Cullen said with mock formality. “I would think it was _you_ who was tired of losing.” Dorian laughed lightly and gave a wave of dismissal.

            “Pure luck on your part,” he replied loftily. Cullen joined him in his laughter, recognizing that he was putting on airs to keep up appearances.

            “I apologize, Dorian, for being late,” Cullen said as he sat down opposite him. “I lost track of time while reading reports.”

Dorian gave a real laugh at that.

            “Only _you_ ; Ser Knight, would lose track of time reading _reports_!”

            “Ha!” Cullen exclaimed as Dorian began setting up the board for their game. “Clearly you have paid absolutely no attention to how long the Inquisitor takes to read her own reports.” He chuckled at the expression on Dorian’s face.

            “You mean she isn’t actually having her wicked way with you the first three days after we return from sealing those unholy rifts?” Dorian exclaimed with horror.

Cullen groaned and rolled his eyes heavenward; begging the Maker for patience and the strength to _not_ kill his best friend.

            Their banter stayed quite lively as they played, amusing the audience they gathered.

            “Ah-ha!” Dorian crowed as he made the winning move. “Check and mate!” He was so excited to have actually won, Cullen couldn’t help but laugh for several minutes at him.

            “That’s what happens when you don’t cheat!” Cullen finally gasped out as Dorian looked at him with consternation. After that statement, however, he had the grace to laugh at himself as well.

            “Ah, thank you for the game, Dorian.” Cullen said as their laughter died down.

            “No, Commander, thank _you_!” Dorian insisted. “Oh!” He took the thick packet of vellum out of his shirt, and handed it to him. “Before I forget, _Master Tethras_ asked me to give this to you.”

            Cullen frowned when he saw the writing. He didn’t recognize the hand and not many people knew he could read Dwarven.

            “Thank you, did he say who it was from by chance?” He asked without much hope of an answer.

            “He actually said he had no idea who it was from,” Dorian said with some curiosity.

Cullen sighed dismally and sat back in his chair looking at the letter.

            “I’m going to die of curiosity, Cullen.” Dorian said after he watched him stare at the paper for five minutes. He hadn’t even opened it.

The statement startled the Commander as he jerked from his reverie.

            “I somehow doubt that curiosity would kill you,” Cullen said with a smirk.

Dorian laughed as he rose and nodded his agreement before excusing himself.

            “Dorian!” Cullen called before the mage had gotten too far. “Perhaps you’re a little bored as well as curious?”

Dorian turned to face the Commander as he thought about his answer. He could see Cullen had surprised himself with the question.

            “In truth, Commander, I am.”

Cullen stood and walked toward his friend while he considered if he actually wanted to involve him in this.

            “How are you with mysteries?” Cullen asked quietly when he was only a foot away. This brought a frown to Dorian’s face.

            “Fictional mysteries or real?” he asked.

            “Real. Very, very real.” There was a combination of deep anger and heavy concern in his voice that snapped Dorian out of his affected ennui.

            “Fasta Vas!” he cursed softly. “What do you need, my friend.”

Instead of answering, Cullen beckoned, and Dorian followed the Commander’s lead back to the barracks.

*****

            “I’ve managed to identify all twenty of the Ben Hassrath agents here in Skyhold.” Iron Bull said as he handed several sheets to the Inquisitor. Bronwynn looked over the names.

            “Amazing that we only missed five of them in our first sweep.” Bronwynn said with a shake of her head.

            “Having Sera and Varric help out was a good idea, Inquisitor. Have to admit, I wouldn’t have thought of it any more than Red did.” The Qunari spymaster admitted.

            “I have to admit that I like having big friend's.” Sera barked out with a laugh. The sentiment was echoed by Varric.

            Bronwynn joined the laughter before moving on to more pressing concerns. She noticed that Varric’s mind seemed to be wandering more than usual so took pity on them and shooed them out of her room.

            “Boss,” Bull said when the others had cleared the room.

            “Yes?”

            “I have gotten another report regarding someone hiring assassins.” Bronwynn sighed and sat back in her overstuffed chair.

            “Still no clue regarding either who is doing the hiring or who is the intended target?” She asked wearily.

            “No, and that bothers me more than just getting reports about assassins.” Bronwynn laughed sardonically.

            “Well, at least we know which Bards are in play;” Bronwynn sighed thoughtfully. “See which strings you can twist for more information.” He nodded before turning to leave.

            “Bull!” She called softly to stop him. “Work with Cullen to add a few guards to the agents on watch, please?” Once more he nodded, this time leaving the room. Bronwynn closed her eyes in thought for a brief moment before she heard her next appointment entering from the stairwell.

~*~

            It was dark in the hallways behind the kitchen, despite the mage lights and candles scattered around. Two elven maids followed a red-haired, dwarven agent named Sabina who was leading them through the columned hall, giggling softly. The dwarf grinned and laughed with them as they moved along quickly. She turned to wave them through the stairs leading up to Ambassador Montilyet’s apartments, before returning to the kitchens. Sabina made her way back to the training grounds to get her orders for the day; joking with those she passed. She placed her right fist over her heart with a slight bow in salute and moved off for her rounds.

            A second red headed dwarf came up from the Undercroft, also smiling and joking with those around her. She worked her way to Cullen’s office above the barracks by the gates. Dagna left the Commander and the mage laughing as she headed down the stairs and back to the forge.

            Dagna opened the door from the Great Hall into the Undercroft and heard Harrit shouting in shock and fear; the Arcanist shouted for guards as she drew her hammer and ran into the forge. Harrit had his own hammer drawn and was fending off a giant spider. Dagna shrieked in anger and leapt over the railing to throw her weight against the creature’s side.

            Sabina heard the shout from Upper Yard and turned to join the fray just as she felt a sharp sting at her throat, a hard pressure and her vision greyed out for a moment. As it cleared she was on her knees and she could feel something warm and heavy flowing down her left side from her neck. Touching the area, she felt liquid, looking at her hand she couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing when her vision went dark.

            “Dannazione!” The voice was soft and couldn’t be heard above the shouting from the upper rooms. Moving the dwarf was tougher than one would think, she was much denser than believed.

            “Ah! Merde!” Slightly louder, the voice was still inaudible over the scrambling through the halls. The assassin had no idea what caused the stir and didn’t care. They had two jobs and the first was done. Killing the Arcanist was merely a means to keep the Inquisition off center while their employer took the next step.

            The assassin made their way back to the prison, their point of entrance only to discover the area was now full of guards.

            “Her Holiness warned against leaving the area in disrepair.” Ser Morris said wearily. “If only we'd had the time as well as resources to actually make the repairs she wanted.”

            Bronwynn and Cullen came from the prison, covered in ichor, followed by Sera and Dorian; also covered in ichor. Sera wielded a large spiny leg of one of the spiders and she was whooping and crowing about her victory. Dorian stood shaking his head and whining about the ichor; though no one thought he was serious. Even those who didn’t know him as well as the Inquisitor and her Circle knew he wasn’t truly as arrogant as he sounded.

            “Should have stayed back if you didn’t want the new robe destroyed, Ser Mage!” Cullen laughed as he moved towards the troughs by the fighters training area.

            “Just because _you_ don’t appreciate the effort that Iron Bull went through to get this for me, doesn’t give you leave to show no pity in the destruction of it.” He responded, exaggerating the haughtiness of his speech. Those around were already laughing at the banter when Bronwynn gave a high-pitched shriek as Cullen dumped a bucket of ice cold water over her head.

Even the assassin was caught off guard and froze with the rest of the people in the courtyard. Their green eyes widening in shock as the Inquisitor turned to her husband with flashing eyes.

“Oh, husband.” The Inquisitor said with a laugh. He grinned wickedly and lunged for her just as she hit him with a very large ball of magicked water.

The assassin was amazed when all those within a ten foot radius of them all began to grab water containers or snow to join in the impromptu hoopla. The person realized after a moment that there were now more guards guarding the entrance to the prison; the only entrance.

“Maghi cazzo!” Luckily there were plenty of places the assassin could hide for the time being.

            ************

“Commander.”

            “What is it, Captain?”

            “Corporal Sabina is missing.” Cullen’s head snapped up at that. Captain Harron met his Commander’s look levelly; worry clear in the young man’s eyes.

            “When did she last report in?” Cullen was moving around his desk, taking the Captain’s arm and pulling him out the east door.

            “Eleven this morning, for her duty on the West Gate.” Cullen grunted. He only kept one guard on duty there at a time. “She checked in with Cap’n Montgomery before the spider attack.”

            “Who was she relieving?” They reached the lower courtyard, Harron waited until Cullen finished calling orders before answering.

            “Dornen, Ser. I sent Harding and two scouts to check on him.” Cullen heard the disgust in the Captain's voice and shook is head. Dornen was young, eager and easily bored; however, he had a good heart.

            “Good. He would have joined the fight if he’d been relieved; of course, Sabina would have joined the fight if she hadn’t made it to the Gate first.” Cullen frowned with worry. When he saw Harding running towards him, he turned to her and the two accompanying soldiers as she slid to a halt before him.

            “Dornen is dead, Ser.” She said breathlessly. “Throat slit, and it looks like it was from behind.”

Cullen leaned his head to the right and raised his brows in question. Before he could ask anything, he saw a figure running full tilt down the stairs from the upper courtyard. That figure resolved into Dorian as he stumbled up to the small gathering, taking a moment to catch his breath.

“Dorian?” Cullen frowned.

“Bull’s scouts think they found where the spiders came from. They think the entrance was opened by someone coming through hidden caves below Skyhold.”

“Through _what_?” Harding exclaimed incredulously. Dorian nodded as he finished catching his breath.

“The scouts found the entrance already?” Cullen asked. Dorian nodded, handing the Commander several pieces of paper.

“Lace, I swear I’ll not quibble over the supplies you ask for again.” He said as he looked over the drawings on them. She chuckled. Clearly whatever had been found thus far was enlightening.

“I’ll hold you to that, Commander. What are we looking for?” she asked.

            “You and Harron find out about Sabina’s movements before eleven this morning, meet me in my office in half an hour.”

            “I’ll talk to Captain Montgomery.” Harron said, hurrying past the others to the middle courtyard where the Captain was handing out duty assignments.

“I think I’ll go talk to the guards who were on last night and this morning, mayhap they noticed something strange.” Harding said, sounding as if she were stretching for hope.

Dorian and Cullen watched the two head in different directions before giving one another dark looks.

“Bull agreed to let me assign senior guards to the scout patrols outside the walls as well as on them.” Cullen said softly. Dorian hmm’d to show he was listening. “He convinced me to let Sera and her _friend's_ do their own investigating into who may be hiring assassins as well.”

“I hope they’re looking at more than just Bards.” Dorian replied, his voice held a curious note.

“I mentioned that to Sera in passing. She laughed, tweaked my nose and blathered on about her _friend's_ liking Bron too much to overlook an assassin of _any_ kind.” Cullen laughed at the memory.

They turned to head back to his office, walking in silence until they reached the west door to his office. Cullen stopped and looked at the mage beside him thoughtfully: black hair gleamed in the fading sunlight, not a hair out of place despite his earlier run down to the lower courtyard.

“Why do _you_ never get teased about your hair?” Cullen asked.

Dorian merely laughed again; straightening his back, squaring his shoulders and raising his chin. Taking on the haughtiest of expressions, he spoke.

            “One would not dare to _tease_ a man as handsome and important as I, Serra knight.” He held the pose for a second before returning to his normal stance.

            “It’s a good thing you’re known to be such a softy.” Cullen said with a straight face and even voice. Dorian snorted and shoved his armoured shoulder before they went into the Commander’s office.

            “Amicus meus, I’m known for being wonderful, handsome and quite the catch, not for being soft.”

            “Answer a question for me.” Cullen said, by way of subject change.

            “No, I am not going to tell you how to get her to dance the Remigold in the nude. I’m just _not_ going to do it.” Dorian’s comment stunned his friend into shocked silence; he sat behind his desk blinking at the Tevinter mage for a full minute before his entire head turned red.

            “Did you just envision our illustrious Inquisitor naked, dancing the Remigold?” Dorian asked with scandalized delight.

Cullen cleared his throat, and though he blushed deeper he shook his head.

            “Perhaps I’ll get you a copy of one of my favorite books.” Cullen said after clearing his throat of the obvious lump.

Dorian caught a slight smile on his friend’s face. The kind of smile that caused Dorian’s mouth to go dry in anticipation. Whatever Bronwynn had done to illicit that smile from this man… Dorian swallowed at the possibilities.

“I’ll be happy to read it.” He managed to answer. He swallowed once again and shook his head to clear it of sudden fantasies.

“What was your actual question, my dear Commander?” Dorian asked when he could speak. He didn’t miss the wicked smile that Cullen quickly hid.

“Bronwynn’s _friends_ , the spirits?” Cullen asked, smiling as Dorian nodded his understanding. “Would it be possible for you to … _speak_ with them?” He held his breath as those dark brown brows drew together in confusion for a brief moment before they widened in understanding.

“Hmm, I don’t see why I couldn’t.” He steepled his long tan fingers together and closed his eyes. A small crease in his brow showed his concentration.

Cullen knew he was successful when Dorian finally smiled.

“Well, I have to admit, these two are quite coherent.” Dorian gave an excited laugh. “Knowledge says she’s pleased you’ve stopped thinking entirely like a _Templar._ ” Cullen chuckled in response.

“I guess I don’t.” Cullen agreed, never having thought about it before. “Knowledge and Compassion have been with Bron and I for a very long time,” he admitted. “I have always known my mage had special insight; I just didn’t want to think about it too hard.” Cullen chuckled at his youth.

“Well, they wish to know what you’re seeking.” Dorian replied. “Apparently they aren’t impressed with my humble self.” Cullen laughed aloud before answering.

“I was hoping one of them could tell me if there were any spirits here in the Keep that could shed some light on who killed our guardsmen.” Cullen’s even voiced question surprised the mage enough for him to allow his jaw to drop.

“What? I spent twenty years in the Circle. I seem to remember being told repeatedly, the fade is all around us and we are surrounded by spirits _who all seek to possess mages and make of them abominations_.” He said this with such an exaggerated importance that the astonished mage laughed heartily.

“I forget sometimes amatus, that you were one of Ferelden’s dreaded _Templars_.” Having said that as he finished laughing, Dorian once again concentrated.

“Knowledge tells me the others are old and faint. But...” The mage drew out the word with a sound of interest. “They saw a bard with black wings peck the shield by the setting sun then roost where the stone child wouldn’t see.” Dorian took a deep breath, shaking his head, brows furrowing. He was silent for a moment before continuing.

“Compassion … observed: the wings unfurl while sound clashes, it sees a red stone child; no, it sees two.” Dorian’s frown deepened, his head tilted onto his left shoulder.

“Compassion!” At Dorian’s sudden exclamation Cullen leaned forward in his chair. “Too much at once, slow down. Please!” Dorian begged. Behind the mage’s eyes, near chaos reigned. The spirit was not only exuding a feeling of excitement, it was forcing images into his head faster than he could interpret them.

“Dorian?” Cullen stood, his voice echoing the concern on his face. His friend held up his hand and shook his head. The images were slowing, allowing him to see more. He could still feel his head swimming, but it no longer felt as if it were going to spin away.

“There are claws that strike out and... still the stone.” Dorian took a breath and waited; no more images came and the spirit retreated apologetically. Dorian collapsed into the chair he was already seated in.

Cullen was glad that it was one of the many overstuffed chairs Bronwynn insisted on throwing around the Keep. He quickly poured Dorian a cup of water.

“Well, that was…” Dorian took a deep breath and then a large swallow of water. “That was interesting, to say the least.” His slightly panicked eyes met Cullen’s. It didn’t take a mage to see that Dorian had been unprepared for the full deluge of information he was just given.

“If you tell Bull about this, so help me, Commander, I will ensure you are unable to romp with your lovely wife for several weeks.” Cullen snorted.

“You imagine I’d tell my _Qunari_ Spymaster that his _Tevinter_ lover was nearly overwhelmed by _my mage’s_ spirits.” Cullen gave his friend a wide eyed look of mock fear as he went back behind his desk.

“He would do more than prevent me from making love to my wife for weeks; he’d beat me senseless.”

Dorian joined in the laughter, grateful Cullen hadn’t hovered or asked any questions. He wasn’t sure how to explain what had happened; though he’d speak with _Her Worship_ about it later.

Dorian was finding it rather nice having friends he could actually trust about.

“Your descriptions were rather concise, but I’m not sure how helpful they are.” Cullen paused and sighed. “Thank you, spirits. I appreciate you helping where you can.”

Dorian nodded his approval. Unlike the Southern mages, Tevinter mages accepted that there was a difference between demon and spirit. He suspected, it had to do with Tevinter having taken much of their philosophy on magic from the Elves.

“I have an idea, Commander.” Dorian rallied.

“Go on.”

“Let’s bring the expert in.” Cullen smiled at the suggestion. Opening the eastern door, he grabbed one of the squires and sent him to ask Solas to join them. It was only half an hour later when he did.

The elf’s typically serene features shifted to concern when he took in Dorian’s appearance: pale under his normally tan skin with sweat rapidly cooling on his brow. It was easy to see by the slight frown and narrow squinting of the eyes, that Dorian’s head was hurting him.  He quickly moved to Dorian’s side, opening the pouch he carried as he went.

“Dorian, what has happened? You look as if you have seen a ghost.”

Dorian chuckled, taking the proffered headache remedy gratefully, he quaffed it while Cullen answered.

“We’ve a puzzle, Solas. We were hoping you could help us sort it out.” Cullen said, relief so clear in his voice that it caught Solas’ attention.

When he turned his frown toward Cullen, Solas found himself the recipient of a grateful nod. Unsure why the Commander would be grateful for a small bit of elfroot he asked the obvious question.

“What puzzle is that, Commander?”

“One of our guards has been killed, another is missing and presumed dead,” Dorian interjected, the pain fading quickly allowed him to focus.

“By whom?” Solas asked, surprise and outrage evident in his voice.

“That is what we are hoping you can assist with.” Cullen said.

“Anything, Commander.”

“We were hoping you would speak to the spirits for us; see if you could better interpret what they’ve told us to help us figure out who did it.” Dorian replied. He started to move when Cullen placed a hand on his shoulder to still him. Grabbing one of the oversized chairs, Cullen moved it closer for Solas.

“I’m afraid I may have missed something when Wynnie’s friends showed me what they were seeing.” Dorian went on before giving a brief summary of what the spirits told him.

            “A _bard with black wings_ killed the guard at the West Gate and then killed a _red stone child_ ; presumably Sabina.” Solas nodded his agreement.

            “Well, I would be willing to try.” Solas said, curious but wary; as he was accustomed to the way spirits usually communicated.

            Dorian and Cullen smiled when they all heard an excited cry, clearly from the spirit of compassion. Solas joined in the laughter that followed.

            “Very well.” Solas sighed and composed himself. He would normally do this while sleeping; but as the spirit was so strong all he had to do was go into a light trance.

            The spirit of Compassion appeared before him, his appearance recalled a young Cullen. His gaze shifted to another spirit, one he felt was knowledge bordering on wisdom. She reminded him of a younger Bronwynn.

            “Hello,” he said, his soft voice polite as ever. The spirits smiled, Compassion stepped forward, holding out his right hand.

            ‘ _May I’_ The spirit asked.

Solas nodded, taking his hand. He was surprised at the warmth of the being, quickly realizing that it was because of its association with the Inquisitor.

            His breath caught as this spirit; who was very much in the here and now, connected him to the older, _fainter_ spirits of the keep. Fleeting images of the past filled his mind. Experience allowed him to let it pass without trying to make sense of it.

            Now came the new images, fresh memories. At once he understood the confusion. The spirit that was acting for the assassin saw two dwarves, two women, instead of just one; because he was expecting a different dwarf.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The water clock in Cullen’s office gave a single chime for the half hour just as Harron came into his office through the northern door and Harding came in through the east one.

Dorian looked up when he heard Cullen snort softly and saw Harron and Harding blinking at one another. He found himself wanting to laugh as well when they just stood there staring at one another. Clearly, they were also attempting to conceal their own laughter. It became harder when Bull stepped up behind Harron and said, “Excuse me.”

            “Grab a seat Harron; Harding.” Cullen indicated the wooden chairs along the wall, which they retrieved and placed in front of the desk next to Solas who appeared to be meditating. Bull moved to stand behind Dorian and Solas was apparently meditating in his chair and was studiously ignored.

            “Harron, what did you learn?” Cullen asked the newly promoted Captain of the Skyhold Guard.

            “Cap’n Montgomery confirms that Sabina reported for duty a few minutes late, two of the kitchen maids having asked for a quick escort through the lower halls of the Keep.” He reported. “According to the guards on duty in the Yard, she was already in the tunnel when you went rushing into the prison.” He sat back in his seat.

            “No one saw her after that, and in the confusion of the attack and clean-up, no one realized that Private Dornen hadn’t reported in either.” Cullen nodded.

            “Harding?”

            “I didn’t learn anything different.” She reported. “However, I have spoken with the scouts who entered the tunnel system.” Harding smiled triumphantly with the news.

            “What have they found?” Bull asked with interest.

            “Well, the tunnels were definitely dug by the spiders, Ser. However, they aren’t very long.” She stood and placed several sheets of paper on the desk. All but Solas rose to look at the drawings.

“Hold on.” Dorian said with a mischievous grin. He flicked his wrists and suddenly the images on the papers rose to hover above the desk. Eight eyes widened in surprise.

“Sometimes magic is actually useful.” Iron Bull said with surprise. “How long have you been saving that spell?” “A few months.” He admitted with a very cocky grin. “Harding, if you please.” She grinned wider before continuing. She then pointed to the section of the map that showed where the tunnels started.

“This is where Charter found ropes, piton, and picks for climbing.” Cullen frowned, before he could ask anything she switched maps.

“She climbed down and found the roots of that tree that grew in the grotto below the Keep.”

“She find anything else?” Bull asked. She nodded.

“Took her about an hour but she found an opening. Said it had to be an elf that came through, too narrow for even a small human to navigate.”

“Well...” Cullen began sheepishly, and all but Solas snorted at his expense.

"Hey, Cullen - isn't that the grotto that you and the wife like to go to when you want... privacy?" Bull grinned lasciviously causing Cullen to rub his neck in embarrassment. Bull chuckled, then directed his next question to Harding.

“I sent her up to the Inquisitor, Commander. I’m sure she’ll find a way to seal it.”

“Well, we found the entrance for whomever entered.” Cullen said after clearing his throat. “Now to figure out who and where they are.”

“Perhaps I can shed some light.” Solas said as he came out of his trance.

“That took longer than expected.” Dorian said drolly.

Solas grinned in return.

“Most of the spirits here are… fading.” He said sadly by way of explanation. “It has been a long time since they had anyone or anything to interact with.” He pursed his lips in contemplation as he thought about how to explain what he had seen.

“What did they mean by the spirits seeing two dwarves?” Dorian asked the most pressing question first.

“Apparently the assassin was only given a vague description of the target and a title instead of a name.” Solas looked to Cullen with narrowed eyes.

“From what I was able to interpret, his target was the Arcanist, but was only told to kill ‘a red-haired dwarf’.”

“Dagna!” Cullen blanched and began moving. Lace was out the north door instantly with Cullen and the others right on her heels.

They sprinted across the inner archway, through the Solarium then into the Hall. The speed with which they moved turned heads and only Cullen calling ‘remain here’ kept the guards on the walls. Into the Throne Room then, they slowed just enough to keep from slamming into one another as Harding slammed open the door to the Undercroft.

“Dagna!” Cullen shouted, grasping the railing above the molten-fire pit with relief when he saw her standing by one of her many beloved machines.

“Yes, Commander?” She answered brightly, then squeaked in shock when Bull leapt down the stairs and grabbed her to squeeze her tightly.

“Thank the Maker.”

“Thank Mythal.”

Cullen, Dorian, Harding, and Solas all spoke at once; clearly grateful their friend was alive.

“What’s going on?” She asked squeakily as Bull continued to squeeze her. “Bull, please put me down.” He laughed with relief, but did so -- very carefully.

“Bull, how many can you spare?” Cullen asked.

“Hell, just tell Sera.” He responded. “She’ll be the best guard for our Arcanist.” Cullen frowned as he thought about it.

“Stay here until I get her.” He ordered but didn’t have to go further than the Throne room. Sara had been in the lower courtyard when Cullen shout Dagna’s name. When she had seen them rushing across to the Keep she headed up the fastest way to her, through the kitchens.

“Good.” Cullen said. Grabbing her by the elbow, he propelled her through the Undercroft door before him. “You’re on guard for your girl until further notice.” He cryptically told her.

“Hold on!” she demanded, her street accent a clear contrast to his cultured one. “What’s this about?”

“One of the assassins we’ve been searching for has managed to infiltrate the Keep.” Bull said from down by the forge.

“Never!” She cried out. “After all Varric and I did?”

“This assassin snuck in from the grotto.” Harding said, and Sara frowned.

“What about the guards down there?” Sara asked with concern.” Harding smiled reassuringly.

“Both are fine, although feeling rather ashamed that they allowed someone to sneak past them.”

“Unlikely they’d have noticed a Crow.” Solas said. Even Master Harrit was shocked by that statement. The elf looked at Dorian before continuing.

“That was part of the puzzle. This assassin is one of the Antivan Crows.” Dorian’s eyes widened in understanding.

“Aha! A bard with black wings! That means the two red stone children were two red haired dwarves. The assassin must be inexperienced.” Dorian said darkly.

“Why do you say that?” Harron asked echoed by Harrit. “They had enough skill to sneak past a pair of nightingales.” He explained. “But not enough patience to find out which of our many red-haired dwarves was the Arcanist.”

Sara sighed and sat on one of the many boxes along the wall. Her hazel-green eyes lingered on her dwarven lover.

“I’m grateful it weren’t my girl, but it shouldn’t have been any of our people.” She turned to look at Cullen, eyes full of sadness. She was unsurprised to see the same sadness in his eyes.

“Solas.” She said softly and without her usual rancor. “Don’t suppose you know what that bard looks like?” She saw him shake his head from the corner of her eye. “You’re sure he’s after my Widdle?” Solas nodded and her pretty face twisted into anger.

“You’ll stick with her, Sera.” Cullen said, not an order but no request either. Sera gave the Commander a look that made it clear that was a very stupid thing to say.

“Dagna, I know it’s early, but give our _Friend_ her present.” Dagna’s smile widened as she and Harrit moved towards the storage chest.

The others watched as the two blacksmiths pulled out a bow like none they’d ever seen. Sera’s eyes went wide with awe.

“What is _that_?” Dagna beamed as the awe was echoed in Sera’s voice, pride clear in her own when she answered.

“We’re calling it a _compound_ bow.” Harrit grinned as he handed the weapon to Sara. Iron Bull leaned forward from the lower floor to check out the design.

“Okay, so the upper and lower limbs, as well as the riser are dragonbone. Looks like you added some sort of guard to the back of the riser.” Sera commented as she looked the bow over. With the upper limb she tapped Bull on a horn for him to move and lifted the bow.

“It’s light, even with the bone and extra string. What’s this?” She plucked at the double string just behind the grip. By then Dagna was standing next to her.

“This is the arrow shelf.” Dagna pointed to a small jettison, just wide enough for an arrow shaft above the grip on the forward part of the riser. Normally where Sera would place her forefinger to hold the arrow. “Just above that is the sight.”

“The what?” She looked down at her girlfriend and frowned. “You saying I need help to see my target, like Varric?” Dagna snorted.

            “No, but you’re not the only one going to be using these, just the _best_.” She answered. “Pay attention, elf.” She teased, causing everyone else to laugh as Sera stuck her tongue out at the smaller woman.

            “Here is what we're calling the cable guard; these would be the cables.” He pointed to a small square shaped metal that held the two ‘extra’ string for the bow.

            “Why do I need the extra string, and why are there wheels on my bow?” She asked, genuine curiosity in her voice.

            “Now that’s what is going to make this better than any other bow, but Bianca. The _cams,_ as we’re calling them, both help with the draw on the string as well as to make it smoother.” Harrit mimed the drawing of the bow as he explained.

            Sera started to pull the string and grunted when she felt the resistance. Lowering the weapon she took a deep breath and visibly focused. Once again she lifted and drew the string, it was clearly a hard draw but she easily made a full one on the weapon. Her hazel-green eyes widened ever so slightly when she felt the pressure on the string seem to pause. Holding it for several seconds before she carefully released the string.

            Then she smiled. Her wide lips split in such a self satisfying way it was infectious.

            “I need to practice, but I think I’ll like this.” She said, turning to face Cullen. “Whose idea was this?” she asked him.

            “I’ll let Dagna explain. We,” he waved to include the others that had come with him to check on the Arcanist. “Still have work to do.” A brief salute to her and he led the others back into the Keep.

            Bronwynn stood five feet from the door, raised brows and pursed lips a clear indication of her annoyance. Cullen halted, giving her a matching look, only to have her narrow her eyes at him.

“Bron …” He started to speak to her when the lunch gong sounded. Had it not, he might have gotten away with not telling her anything important. He didn’t want her involved more than she had to be.

Apparently, however, he was the only one _not_ afraid of his wife.

            “Bull, perhaps we could take our lunch at the Rest?” Dorian said, almost casually.

            “I will join you, if you don’t mind.” Solas said; which of course caused a stir among the small group. Solas wasn’t very sociable.

“Harding, Harron, may as well come too.” Bull said with amazing diplomacy before they all awkwardly ambled away.

Sighing, Cullen led his new bride out of the Throne Room into the Dining Hall.

“I guess we’re eating?” Cullen murmured with frustration as he waved to the table that was now empty but for their two seats.

She narrowed her eyes at him and he sighed briefly before pulling her into his arms for a brief kiss.

“I love your kisses.” She told him wryly. “But you _are_ going to tell me what is going on.” She finished before kissing him again. As always melting into him.

“I would rather have _you_ for luncheon.” Her Templar said, lips pressed against hers. She could hear the hunger in his voice.

“You would say this when I have no time.” She sighed with disappointment. He kissed her briefly again before leading her to the table. She slid into her chair after he pulled it out for her, quickly digging in as food was placed before her.

“Did you forego breakfast again, my love?” He asked with concern as he tucked into his own food.

“Yes, I did.” She informed him loftily, wringing a light laugh from her husband. “Now, tell me what is going on?”

Cullen took a few bites of his meal, using the excuse to gather his thoughts before telling her what was happening and to figure out how to convince her to let him deal with it.

“Bronwynn, my heart, I will tell you what is going on but only because you are the Inquisitor. You needn’t burden yourself with this on top of everything else you juggle.” His voice was firm. She sighed and sat back in her chair knowing he wouldn’t budge.

“Fine,” she said grudgingly. “I don’t like it, though.” She gave him a smile to show she wasn’t really angry and indicated that he should continue.

“We believe Dagna is the target of an assassin.” He told her quietly so as not to upset the others eating their lunch.  

“Harron reported to me that Corporal Sabina was missing.” Cullen went on. “He sent Harding to look into it and she found Dornen dead.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, letting what he just said have a chance to sink in.

“Harding found Dornen’s body at the West Gate, but not Sabina.” Bronwynn’s eyes narrowed in concern. Her husband shook his head to stave off anything she may have said.

“Dorian later brought me the news that the scouts found the tunnel the spiders came from; Charter filled you in, I’m sure.”

“Dorian and Solas communicated with your spirit friends, Compassion and Knowledge, getting what information about the assassin they could.” Cullen took a moment to decide how to explain the rest.

“The assassin was supposed to kill the Arcanist and we’re figuring they are likely inexperienced because they killed the wrong dwarf.”

Bronwynn then summed up the brief explanation.

“So the assassin most likely killed our Sabina?” She asked him. His nod drew a frustrated sigh from her. “Is Sara watching over her _Widdle_?” Bronwynn snorted at the nickname. Cullen smiled himself but nodded in answer to her question.

“ _Now my heart_ , I ask you to stay out of it. I’ll be keeping Dorian here with me when you head out for the next mission; but you’re not to involve yourself in this.” He put a finger to her lips to forestall her speaking.

“You have far too much on your plate right now and I _need_ you to have your mind occupied only by your missions when you’re out there.” Her features softened, and she nodded her agreement.

~*~

The Commander of the Inquisition stood at the entrance to the Great Hall of his Keep after lunch and signed softly. He let his thoughts flow over the day thus far. His hand reached out and gently snagged the sleeve of a passing paige.

“Charles.” The lad was small, most likely no more than seven or eight, and the tilt of his eyes gave the hint of elven blood, human though he looked.

“Yes, Ser?” The boy’s eyes were bright with anticipation. Clearly a lad who liked his assignment as a paige.

“Do you know if Bull, Dorian, and the others are still in the Rest?” Cullen raised his brows as he asked the question. The boy nodded eagerly.

“Aye, Ser! They’re sitting  upstairs talking ‘bout magic and such.” Cullen said thanks and waved the boy on his way. He made his way quickly to The Herald’s Rest.

            With the lunch hour mostly gone there were very few people in the tavern. He nodded a greeting to the minstrel Maryden, who discreetly pointed above his head. Nodding once more, he moved to the second level and found the group at the largest table deep in conversation.

            “Have you three come to any conclusions?” He asked with a grin as he joined them.

            “Depends,” Bull said after swallowing a mouthful of ale. “Did the Boss break anything you may need?” Cullen smirked at the Qunari before snagging one of the extra mugs on the table.

            “Actually, we may have.” Dorian spoke over Bull’s laughter, drawing Cullen’s attention.

            “Do tell.”

            Solas and Dorian exchanged a brief glance before Solas nodded and spoke.

            “There is a chance,” the elf said. “That we know where Sabina’s body is.” Cullen waited with a frown.

            “There’s that ledge along the tunnels where we keep archers’ supplies.” Dorian said.

            “It’s a good place to hide _things_.” Bull said in contemplation. Cullen nodded then frowned.

            “So why are you three sitting here instead of looking?” He asked them, left eyebrow rising with sarcasm.

            “We sent Harding and Harron out to check.” Dorian replied loftily, aristocratic nose in the air. He then spoiled the look with a grin when a barmaid named Meg snorted at him.

            “Right, Messer. You _sent_ Captain’s Harding and Harron to check _after_ they mentioned the archer’s dias.” Cullen’s wicked grin broke out as the Orlesian girl gave the Tevinter Altus grief.

            “All right, you little minx, you can stop giving me shit.” He laughingly responded. “Getting above your station, you wench!” He joked with a gentle swipe of his hand.

            A clatter from below heralded the entrance of soldiers; the sound of the hobnails was distinctive. They stood to look over the railing, upon seeing Harron entering, Bull jumped over the railing.

            Solas, Dorian, and Cullen hurried down the stairs instead, all wanting to laugh at the Qunari but understanding the urgency.

            “Aye, Sers; we found her.” He said softly when they were all close enough. Not that it mattered, the Inquisition was a tight knit family and word had gotten around rather quickly. Silence fell when he spoke, to be broken by a collective shocked gasp when even Solas’ head fell with grief.

            Cullen’s head turned, blue eyes latching onto a pair of golden. Sabina’s husband stood behind the bar, his whole body shaking as the realization began to wash over him. Cullen glanced around, catching Varric’s eye as he entered. Not needing instructions, Varric called for Meg and went behind the bar. Taking hold of the barkeep’s shoulders, he gently led him into the back of the tavern.

            “Ser?” Meg asked hesitantly.

            “She was found.” The Commander said softly; sadly. Her brown eyes filled with tears, though she didn’t let them fall. She lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders.

            “Leave it to us, Commander. We’ll take care of him, and the others.” She gave a curt nod before turning to take over the bar.

            Dorian had moved the others outside during the exchange, Cullen caught the last half of the discussion,

            “We can’t just put the Keep on lockdown, Amatus.” Dorian was saying to Bull, who was seething.

            “He’s right, Bull.” Solas agreed, drawing an irate look.

            “It’s been long enough that this assassin could already have left the keep. I don’t want to give them longer to do so!” His voice carried across the yard, drawing attention when he hadn’t meant to.

            “Chief Iron Bull,” Harron interrupted the beginning of a storm. “I already gave orders to the guards on the gates to keep an eye out for anyone they don’t know. Coming or going.” His words caused Bull to let out a deep sigh, but he nodded in understanding.

            “Come with me, Amico mea.” Dorian took his partner’s large hand and pulled him to the keep. Cullen dismissed Harron to his duties with instructions to be in his office the next morning after breakfast.

~*~

            Cullen made his way down the stairs the following morning, earlier than usual as he’d been awoken by Bronwynn scrambling over him to reach for the basin to be sick. He’d managed to stay calm while helping her re-arrange herself on the bed.

“Care to explain?” He asked her softly. He didn’t want to think she would leave him in the dark if she were seriously ill but she wouldn’t necessarily tell him.

Bronwynn grinned up at him with sheepish glee before giving into chuckles.

“I was hoping to avoid this part of the process.” She told him, aiming for mysterious but falling short. Cullen narrowed his glacier blue eyes at her before sliding out of her reach.

“Then you won’t mind my leaving early.” He taunted. Her laughter at his antics was interrupted by another bout of vomiting, causing Cullen real concern.

“My heart?” He asked after once again settling her in bed. This time she sighed and put her head on his chest.

“I’m pregnant.” She said and even though she was clearly tired from being sick she also sounded hopeful.

Cullen shook his head, unsure if he had said what he’d heard.

“Truly?” He asked, awe and hope filling his own voice.

“Yes.” She answered, nodding. Cullen carefully gathered her into his arms to hold her for a moment before leaping from the bed to shout in excitement.

“You’re happy, then?” She asked, laughing merrily once again.

“ _My heart_!” He crooned before kissing her forehead. “How could I not be?”

Instead of making it to his office before the others, he was late, though he wouldn’t say why.

~*~

            Once more Cullen found himself awoken by Bronwynn getting sick and though he wanted to coddle her, she’d begun throwing pillows at him for the attempt. Knowing Elena would be in their rooms within minutes of him vacating he felt confident in leaving her alone.

            Cullen opened the lower door and was surprised to find a young paige asleep on the floor. Seeing it was Charles, the Commander sighed in frustration. He’d told the boy repeatedly not to do this.

            “Charles!” He exclaimed, not at full volume, but loudly enough to wake the boy. He almost ruined the look of anger he was going for when the youngling startled awake, mumbling and saluting from the floor.

            “What are you doing down there?” Cullen demanded.

            “I wanted to be here,” the boy yawned in the middle of his answer. “If you or the ‘Quisitor needed me, Ser.” Once more Charles yawned and this time he stretched. Cullen could see bruises along the boy’s shoulders that didn’t come from the floor. Cullen reached down and picked him up, turning to take him up to his quarters with Bronwynn.

            “”Bron!” Cullen called, anger in his voice. He was on the second landing when she leaned over the railing.

            “What is it?” She asked sleepily.

            “I would like you to take a look at Charles.” He answered. The boy in question then began to squirm and demand to be let go.

            “If you think I’m going to let you go back to whomever put those bruises on you boy, you clearly have no idea who I am.” Cullen replied. “Be still.” His voice was stern, but the young man could tell he wasn’t angry with him personally.

            Bronwynn heard what her husband said and frowned as he reached the open door.

            “Down to his smalls, please.” She said to Cullen as she turned to heat the water in the basin by the fireplace.

            “Ser! You don’t have to…” Cullen gently took the boys chin in his hands to make him look up.

            “Unless you did something to someone who was weaker than you, there’s no reason you should have two-day old bruises on your shoulders. Not even if you are particularly terrible at sword work.” Cullen said softly.

            Charles being quite young wasn’t sure how to answer. Bronwynn sat beside the boy and gently ran a warm cloth down his back and though she kept her face placid the boy’s wince let Cullen know there was more damage on his back.

            As he removed the child’s breeches it took all he and Bronwynn had to remain calm and collected.

            “Charles,” Bronwynn began, a question in her voice. “Is there anyone in this Keep more powerful than the Commander or myself?” The question surprised the boy.

            “No, Messer.” He answered, though he started shivering.

            “I know someone died.” She went on as she laid him on his stomach and laid a poultice on his back. “But do you think we _let_ that happen?”

His body had relaxed from the heat of the healing bag and his eyes had closed so he didn’t see Cullen’s face twist into a ferocious grimace when he saw the obvious signs of rape on the boy.

“He said I could only be a paige if I let him.”

“Who said, poppet?” Bronwynn asked, maintaining the same tone despite being ready to flay someone alive.

“Ser Montgomery.” Now the young boy fell asleep and before Cullen could move, Bronwynn was already pulling on her armor.

“I will…” He started, and she turned, eyes flashing in anger. He raised his hands in supplication. “What would you like me to do?” He asked instead.

“Call Elena and Loudon.” She said softly. “Then get Bull, Varric, and Sera.” He cocked his head to the left as he waited.

“Bring them to the Undercroft; to the small library down there.” She said. The menace in her voice would have frightened anyone else. Cullen simply nodded and left the room.

“Compassion?” She called softly, unsurprised the spirit readily made itself visible. “Ask Cole to come here, to keep an eye on Charles? Please?” she asked. “Then stay with them?” The spirit nodded before leaving to do as she asked.

Bronwynn worked to find her calm so that she didn’t burn the man to a crisp as soon as she found him.

Elena, Louden, and Cole arrived in her rooms at the same time, Charles was still sleeping so she quietly told them why he was there. The two elves gasped in dismay and Cole wanted to help her find the culprit.

“In this case, dearest, I’m going to deal with it _alone_.” She told him. She could see concern in his eyes just as he glanced quickly at her stomach.

“Yes, Cole?” She said, knowing he wanted to say more.

“The babies…” He started to say when Elena placed her hand on his arm.

“Serra, MiLady won’t take that kind of risk.”

“Promise?” He asked Bronwynn who nodded in response before turning and leaving the room. She heard Louden asking how long MiLady has been expecting and getting a mixed response as Cole seemed certain she’d been pregnant for at least six weeks where Elena was saying only three.

It didn’t take her long to find the Chevalier in question. He was oblivious to his audience and the children he was currently berating didn’t let him know the Inquisitor was there. Several of them had looks of relief in their eyes, however.

“Who else has this… man, harmed as he harmed Charles?” She asked loudly. The man turned abruptly, guilt clear on his face before he pulled a mask of indifference over his expression.

“Whatever that inadequate brat told you was a lie.” He said arrogantly, his Orlesian accent so thick she almost didn’t understand him. She smiled at the man and the children in the room moved to the far wall when she did.

“He didn’t have to tell me a thing.” She replied as she stepped forward. Her hands were clasped in front of her, she looked deceptively relaxed. “Commander Cullen did.” Montgomery sneered at the Inquisitor disdainfully. Bronwynn merely kept her highly unpleasant smile upon her lips.

“The brat is lazy, clumsy!” Montgomery shouted, his face turning red. “He needed to be beaten to learn his duty!”

Bronwynn stepped forward, once again putting herself a staves’ length away from him, she dropped her arms to her side. Along the wall, the children had begun to cry in fear.

“Why am I defending myself to you faen ta deg mage!” He drew his sword with a haughty flourish. “Jeg svarer ikke pa deg, lur!”

Montgomery made a flashy move with his sword, his free hand in the air as if they were in a formal spar.

Bronwynn raised her hand in response, flexing the fingers of her right hand so a vortex of fire surrounded the child rapist without touching him.

“Sa savar til Andraste.” Was Bronwynn’s reply. “I will leave your fate to Celene.” With that, she summoned one of her staves and bashed him on the head, knocking him unconscious.

When she looked at the ten children along the wall she shook her head to clear it of the anger. They were already afraid and didn’t need her to terrify them more than she already had.

“Ir abelas.” Bronwynn said softly as she waved her staff away and sent a small wind to clear the air of smoke. They could clearly see that Montgomery was not burned and that seemed relax them.

“How did Ser Cullen know?” One of the older children asked and Bronwynn gave them a sly grin.

“I lied.” She admitted. “Cullen found Charles sleeping outside our chambers again and saw the bruises on his shoulders.” She pursed her lips before going further.

“I’d like to share a surprise with you, if I may?” She asked. “It’s not a bad thing, I just don’t want the adults to know yet because they’ll get all …” she thought about the right word when one of the younglings found it for her.

“Authoritarian” the young boy said softly. Bronwynn laughingly nodded before replying.

“Since I’m the Inquisitor, I am the only one allowed to be bossy.” She whispered conspiratorially.

“What is the surprise?”

“I’m going to have a baby.” She told them, smiling happily. The ten children all gasped in shock before calling out in awe then rushing to her. Ten little hands gently reached out to caress her stomach.

“So, when Cullen saw the bruises, he got very angry because Charles shouldn’t have had bruises on his shoulder for any reason. None of you should.” Now Bronwynn lowered herself to her haunches so she was on their level.

“Cullen would have been angry in any case, but me being pregnant made it so he got even angrier.” The oldest of the ten swallowed hard and started to shiver.

“He’s not angry with Charles and he won’t be angry with any of you.” Bronwynn said gently. “I’m not angry with you either. That…” She snarled the next part. “Dathrasiwill answer for what he has done to you.” She looked them each in the eyes.

“I swear to you, he will pay.”

Ten pairs of eyes focused on her and she could feel the weight of their hope and despair. She let them decide what they wanted to say, knowing from experience that actions meant more than words when someone has been abused.

“Inquisitor?” A young boy about the same age as Charles said hesitantly. She nodded at him.

“Will you keep us safe?” Tears welled up in her eyes as she reached a hand out to take his little fingers in hers.

“I will do everything in my power to keep you safe.” She swore.

“Inquisitor?” Bronwynn looked up to the oldest of the ten boys and nodded.

“Maybe we can all be your pages?” Bronwynn smiled at him and nodded.

“I think my husband and I would like that very much.” She answered.

“Did Charles tell you who was hurting us?” One of the others asked. “You didn’t tell us if he did or not.” Bronwynn reached up and gently stroked his hair from his forehead.

“Yes, he did, and it was very brave of him.” Bronwynn gave them all a sad smile before continuing.

“Montgomery convinced you all no one would care, that no one would listen, and that everyone would blame you.” All the boys nodded in unison with her words.

“That is _always_ going to be a lie.” Bronwynn said. It was clear to the boys that their Inquisitor had gone through something similar; they could hear it in her voice.

“Indeed, Commander Cullen listened to me when I was in the circle. He kept me as safe as he could.” She smiled as she said it.

“You will always be able to tell either of us anything you want.” Bronwynn then stood up and asked one of the boys to grab some guards. When they arrived, she had them take Montgomery to the prison and from the look on her face, they knew he was guilty of a horrendous crime.

“Please go to my quarters and tell Elena, Loudon, and Cole you need to be taken care of.” They all looked nervously up at her.

“Cole isn’t _really_ scary.” She said, and they shook their heads.

“Elena is, though.” One said, bringing an amused chuckle from Bronwynn.

“That is because she’s so very protective.” She told them. “When you tell her I asked her to take care of you, she will be scary _for you_.” She turned and led the way out of the room.

“Head on up and let them know, please? I need to speak with Cullen before I join you, okay?”

Bronwynn watched the children go up through the kitchens before heading for  the ancient Undercroft library. The only thing she’d allowed the servants to do, was clean it of the spiderwebs and broken wall pieces. With Iron Bull in the small room, it seemed even smaller; he even seemed slightly disturbed by all the books.

“Any idea what this room was used for?” He asked as she entered.

“I suspect, some very _dark_ research.” She replied. Cullen reached out and pulled her into his arms for comfort.

“He’s in the prison awaiting transport to Val Royeaux.” Bronwynn told the group.

“Any idea how many others he hurt?” Sera asked seriously. Bronwynn shook her head.

“Not at this time, but that is where you my spymasters come in.” She told them. “I know you’ve all got your hands full with the investigation into the assassin, but I’m hoping you can spare some agents to look into it or perhaps get some _Friends_ to tell what they have heard or seen.”

Tears fell from her eyes while she spoke. They could see her shivering.

“I know Cole will do what he can to help them heal, I also know Compassion will as well.” She looked at them, anger and sadness mixed.

“I want to know who else thinks they can hurt anyone under my care.” She took a deep breath.

“I promise, kadan,” Bull said just as seriously as Sera. “We will find them.” They all nodded as if it were a pact and Bronwynn let out her breath slowly, nodding as well.

Bronwynn looked back at Cullen and tugged on the arms holding her.

“Let’s go talk to the boys. Mayhap they’ll be willing to tell us more.” Though Bronwynn shook from the force of her anger as well as despair she moved with a solid purpose. She couldn’t do anything about the assassin yet, but she could stop _this_.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another attack, another death?

**Murder at Skyhold**

**Chapter 2**

 

Dwarves tended to celebrate the lives of their fallen whenever possible. In Orzammar, those who were joining the Legion of the Dead would memorialize their ‘deaths’ with their families in a week long celebration. 

Indeed, the Dwarves held week long parties for all those who died with honor before entombing them within the stone to  _ return  _ them to  _ The Stone _ .

Surface dwarves tried to hold on to as much of their heritage as they could despite no longer being surrounded by  _ The Stone _ . 

Varric, being the foremost Dwarf amongst the Inquisition, oversaw the preparations for Sabina Amgeforn’s funeral service.

Throughout the week, Cullen, Varric, Iron Bull, Sera, and Blackwall matched the dwarves of the Inquisition; even the Carta members, draft for draft in honor of this fallen warrior. 

When at last the sun touched the western horizon and stars began to wink at the group on the final day, a teary eyed Inquisitor stood with Cabot and Cullen as Varric spoke the formal rite for the dead.

“Atrast tunsha.” Varric’s tenor voice rolled across the yard where the group was celebrating. “Totarnia amgetol tavash aeduc.” All eyes fell on the body of the woman who lay on the stone slab created for this purpose while the words faded from sound. 

“Thank you, Lord Tethras.” Cabot managed to choke out gruffly. Varric clapped him on the shoulder and nodded. 

Varric stepped to the stone slab with Blackwall, Iron Bull, and Cullen to lift the body and carry it across the bridge to the snow plain. From there, the procession followed a new path leading down, away from the farms to a newly constructed cave system. 

Cabot Amgeforn stopped before an opening set into a wall of the cavern, his breath catching as the four men gently placed their burden in the recess. 

Solas stepped to the front, and while the last notes of the dwarven farewell song rang, he sealed the opening with stone. His soft voice echoed from the walls as he said his own farewell.

“From The Stone she came, to The Stone she returns.” 

By contrast the funeral for Dornen was quite boring.

The service was held a day after the Dwarven one, Andrastians being far more somber. His body was carried in silence to the pyre while Mother Giselle performed the rights with dignity and grace. Bronwynn herself gave a touching speech for the young man before using her magic to light his funeral pyre. Cullen was saddened to see so few there for Dornen. He hadn’t made many friends, true, yet he’d thought that more would come due to his service to the Inquisition.

Cullen and Bronwynn held a vigil with the Inquisition guard after, asking Mother Giselle to read from the Chant for comfort. Bronwynn gave them all a blessing when they asked their ‘ _ Herald _ ’ for one and Cullen dismissed them to their beds at midnight.

“Too few hold on to their faith when the crisis has passed.” Mother Giselle said sadly, before finding her own bed.

Soon after both ceremonies, Bronwynn took her Inner Circle, sans Sera and Dorian, out to close the rifts that were left within the Ferelden borders. 

Cullen stood on the crenellation over the bridge after a second week, discussing the changes he wanted to see with the guards on duty now that the Inquisition’s forces were down by half. He could see the fields that were being plowed across the ravine and smiled with pride. 

Bronwynn may have been doing her best to make the Inquisition as it stood unnecessary, but their people were determined to make Skyhold their home. 

* * *

“Is this how time feels when we’re gone, Commander?” Dorian asked after a month passed.

Thus far, they’d been unable to find the assassin. Oh they identified three more Bards that had come to the Keep, but these were spies that were already known to the Inquisition. Their actions were watched, but not any more than normal. 

Of course, there had also been no other sudden deaths, and while that was a good thing, it also meant they had no way to figure out who the assassin was.

“What’s wrong Dorian?” Cullen replied with a smile. “Our game not distracting enough?” 

“What do you do when  _ I’m _ not here?” Dorian grumbled before making his next move. His chocolate brown eyes narrowed dangerously when Cullen burst into delighted laughter.

“I get my work done, of course!” Dorian groaned before zapping the warrior with a small bolt of lightning making him laugh harder. 

“You cannot tell me you work all hours of the day, Cullen. I won’t believe it!” Dorian sat back in his chair, pouting prettily while Cullen laughed. 

“Oh!” Cullen said with sudden understanding. “So that’s what’s wrong.” His laughter died to chuckles as the pout on his friend's face went to pure disgust.

“You’ve been with your lady for ages, Commander.” Dorian began. “I’m sure you’re used to long periods of …” Now he made a show of shuddering. “Celibacy.” 

Cullen’s chuckle became strangled as the mage went on. 

“I, however, am used to a certain...shall we say...lifestyle.” He gave Cullen, who was now holding his sides as if they were in pain, a vicious glare.

“Yes, Dorian. The whole of the Keep is aware of this.” Cullen gasped out between his gales of laughter. 

“Well, man. What do you  _ do _ about it?” This time he sounded quite put out. 

“Might I suggest, serra, meditation.” 

“Is that what you call it?” Dorian complained. “It’s not helping.” Cullen gave his friend a quizzical look then snorted with more laughter when he got the suggestion.

“I meant  _ actual  _ meditation, friend.” He replied. “You could always find another type of distraction if you are unable to think of anything other than self gratification.” 

From around them, there were snorts of laughter as the workers, servants, and hangers on joined Cullen in his mirth. Dorian blushed deeply but after a moment joined in the laughter at himself. 

“You  _ could _ be a  _ little _ more sympathetic, you know.” Dorian grumped good naturedly as the commotion died down. 

“What?” Cullen said, his lips still spread in a smile. “Never in an age would I want you to think I wasn’t sympathetic to your pain, my friend.” Dorian tipped his nose up to the obvious lie. 

“How about we do some sparring after dinner?” Cullen finally took pity on him. 

Dorian gave an exaggerated sigh, but readily agreed. Perhaps the exercise would exhaust his mind enough to let him sleep. 

* * *

The sun was setting as Dorian made his way down the stairs from the Keep to the lower yard where he and Cullen were going to spar. He stopped on the lower curve to enjoy the silence. The pilgrims that were usually found camped in the lower yard by the gate and the merchants that hawked their wares near there were up in the keep itself enjoying dinner. The westering sun lit the the area with deep yellows. One of the pages nearly ran him over in her hurry to make it up the steps, missing him only because he managed to dodge to the right. 

“Sorry, Ser!” she called as she scampered up, clearly on her way for something urgent. 

He was laughing as he turned back, facing the arch that separated the lower yard from the stable yard when he heard what sounded like a muffled scream. 

He quickly scanned the area for the source of the sound. His gaze passed quickly over the yard to settle on four men moving suspiciously across the yard carrying a large sack between them from the stable toward the main gate, attempting to stick to the shadows.

A moving and screaming sack.

Dorian didn’t know who was in the sack, but he wasn’t letting anyone take one of his people.

With his left hand he threw lights in the sky; with the other, he hit the lead human on the right with a solid bolt of lightning. Blue sparks flared, dampening the bolt but still he fell in a heap; tripping the man behind him. They became tangled up causing both to lose their hold on the sack. 

Shouts were heard and guards rushed towards the group. Dorian himself used fade step, bringing him right next to the one on the ground as he shuddered from the lightning. As he stepped from the mists, he stabbed downward with the blade of his staff, killing him instantly.

Sadly, that left him open to attack from the third man in the group.

A male elf with an acrobat’s body. Clearly he spent a lot of time tumbling, which he used to keep the mage off balance, long enough to give him several shallow cuts along his lower left arm. 

“Fastas!” Dorian cursed, falling back. Before the attacker could strike again, Dorian used telekinetic force to shove him and the other two a good ten feet from him, giving himself a chance to strengthen his shields. 

They were stunned for only a moment, but it was all he needed. His staff flashed out to his right, the blade catching the acrobat as he leapt at him, across the chest before twisting away to let him fall.

Unfortunately, no blood spurted from the strike. The fighter lashed out to his left as he hit the ground, once again cutting the mage. 

Dorian cursed again, wondering why he was having trouble with his shields. The fighters maneuvered themselves between him and the sack, forcing his back to the stairs leading up.

No more than twenty seconds passed from the moment Dorian acted and the guard were closing in. Amongst them were Templars and Dorian ground his teeth together at the sight. 

_ Bloody southern Templars! _ He thought to himself.  _ Always assuming mages are the  _ problem! 

One of the Templars kicked the abandoned sack as he ran, sword drawn. A muffled shriek of pain stopped him in his tracks. He reached down with his sword and sliced open the burlap, to reveal a very angry Arcanist. 

She was gagged with her hands tied before her and her feet tied together. Clearly, beyond angry, she reached up and pulled the gag out of her mouth.

“Untie me!” Dagna shouted at the Templar, who quickly sliced through her bonds.

Dorian cursed as the would be thief slashed out at him once again, slicing through his shields as if they were not there. He was thankful he was wearing his armour instead of his robes. He didn’t notice that the blade had sliced through his armour as well.

The guards joining in the fight took the pressure off the struggling mage. The man who’d tripped with Dorian’s first attack took stock of his situation and dropped a smoke grenade.

“Kaffas! Bards!” Dorian shouted before casting shadows of terror upon his enemy. The man dropped to the ground, shrieking until Dorian knocked him on the temple with the tip of his staff. 

Dorian brought his staff up and caught the blade of the last Bard, angling it sharply so the assailants blade had no choice but to halt as it hit one of the outlying stones before the head of the staff.

Dorian’s eyes darkened in their fury and the human who faced him watched as the brown seemed to solidify into black a split second before fire flashed between them. 

The man’s face twisted in pain as he caught fire, yet still he managed to strike out at the mage. 

“Festis bei umo canavarum!” Dorian cursed loudly as he fell backward, this time feeling the burn of steel slicing through his flesh.  _ This may really be the death of me _ , he thought as he felt the warmth of blood flowing from the wound.

He continued the roll so he made it to his feet a few feet further back. The Bard he’d hit with flame, slapped a flask to his chest, encasing him in ice and dousing the fire. 

Dorian snorted in anger as he realised the assassin was forcing him further away from Dagna. Then his attention was caught by the the second assassin tossing grenades into the group of Templars that had surrounded the dwarf to protect her.

It didn’t take a genius; although he was one, to see they were attempting to regain control over Dagna. Dorian was having none of that and reached out with his magic to grab the woman. Using his telekinesis, he  _ pulled _ her to him. He was grateful she was such a small boned dwarf. He might not have gotten her all the way to him otherwise.

“Here!” Dagna shouted after he’d dropped her behind him, shoving a vial at him. Dorian sent wind towards the Templars to clear the air around them, hoping it would give them all a fighting chance. The three Bards were proving to be a tougher fight than he expected.

“ _ Here _ !” The dwarf said again, shoving the vial into his free hand. Before he could even discern what it was, an arrow shattered the glass, just missing Dorian’s side. 

“Sod it!” Dagna shouted, pulling the mage back another five feet before he stopped and threw fire in a line across their path. She heard the Commander over the commotion, his voice steady and sure, calling orders to those fighting. Over Dorian’s flames, she saw Cullen bash one of the assassins with his shield, stunning him long enough to hit him with a pommel strike that knocked him unconscious. 

Three down, just the one harrying Dorian left. 

Dagna pulled a short staff from her belt, pressing a rune on the shaft, fire poured from the head, just missing the Bard encased in ice.

The last assassin continued to drive the two back, keeping them from moving into the open so their backs were against the cliff. He’d managed to get them back up four steps of the lower stairs to the upper courtyard, before once again cutting Dorian across the chest, deepening the wound. 

* * *

Bronwynn and her circle were crossing the bridge when they heard the shouting and the fighting. They ran the rest of the way, Iron Bull in the lead. At least two heads taller than almost every member of the Inquisition, he could easily see across the yard and through the smoke.

The Inquisitor and her Circle took in the fighting at a glance. Dorian shielding Dagna from attack, bleeding from his wounds. There seemed to be more chaos in the yard than was warranted until they cleared the entrance to see three more fighters down. 

Bull’s attention focused on Dorian and Dagna being forced back up the lower stairs by a human with a sword. 

“ _ Dorian _ !” he shouted as he watched the human cut Dorian across the chest so blood began to pour from the wound. 

The Iron Bull threw his great sword like a spear, piercing the human assassin through the chest, pinning him to the rock wall of the Lower Yard.

“ _ Stitches _ !” The Qunari called, panic in his voice while he sped to the stairs. No one had ever seen the big man move with such speed. He was never slow, but this made him seem preternatural.

“Don’t touch him, Chief!” His company’s healer commanded as he ducked under Bull to kneel by Dorian at the same time Bull reached Dorian. Dagna was gasping for breath and trying not to scream in fear. Stitches ignored his commander’s glare after he’d slapped the big man’s hands away. He began shouting orders while his hands were quickly stripping away the mages armour. 

“Dagna,” Bronwynn snapped as she hit her knees next to her fallen friend. “Get those weapons and find out how they made it through his shields and armour.” The Inquisitor looked at her friend with relief mixed with concern. “And Dagna? I’m glad you’re okay.” The dwarf nodded and snatched up the weapons the human had been using.

“Chief, move for the stretcher.” Stitches said, brooking no argument. The Qunari moved woodenly while the healer worked. 

“Inquisitor, keep the wound from opening more.” Bronwynn grunted, already at work. “You’ll tell me what poison this is?” He asked, although it was more a command.  He held up the unconscious mage's left arm to show her the spotting and inflammation from the shallow wounds, that weren't closing. 

“ _ Poison _ ?!” Iron Bull shouted, his voice cracking in despair. 

“Just as soon as we get him settled and stable, Stitches. I will focus better then.” She replied. 

“Chief!” Bull turned his head to face Krem, his words coming from far away. “Commander Cullen has two survivors.” 

The words focused the big man, let him think. He grunted and moved away. He didn’t see his company healer mouthing thanks to his second in command nor did he see Krem nod before following the ox-man.

* * *

Sera sat on an armless wooden chair in Cullen’s office. Her head was bleeding slowly but steadily. She was slurring her words, though not so badly she couldn’t be understood.

“I figured she could go to the loo by herself, it was just one room over!” Sera told Cullen. She was currently being sat on by the woman she was talking about. 

“They bleedin’ surprised me with that grenade!” 

“Clearly they knew they weren’t getting her with you around.” Cullen shook his head.

“We’ll get to the bottom of why they tried to kidnap her this time. Tell me what you remember.” He ordered. She sighed, glaring at him, but did so. 

“Barrett came in to get some arrowheads, said he’d broken a bunch on his last mission. I was standing about ten feet from the loo.” He and Dagna nodded to show they were listening. 

“I thought I heard Dagna opening the door when a flask shattered at my feet.” Dagna swallowed hard, her free hand fisting in her lap, the other gripping Sera’s left hand tightly. “I don’t remember getting hit in the head, but I must have done since there’s blood. Felt sicker than a hangover when I woke up. Couldn’ta been more’n ten minutes I was out.” Cullen agreed. 

“Whatever they tossed made me woozy as well.” Dagna said. “I wasn’t able to stop them from trussing me up and shoving me in that sack.” She sounded disgusted with herself, but Sera hushed her before Cullen could. 

Cullen turned his attention to a young female mage standing against the far wall and nodded at her. 

“I asked Chartreuse to check over your wounds, Sera.” He said firmly, knowing how she distrusted mages. 

“If you even think of arguing, dearest,” Dagna said softly to her lover. “I will sleep in the forge for a week.” Sera clamped her lips closed as the girl began running healing magic over her. 

“A mild concussion.” She said after a few seconds, then her brown eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Commander, please get me ... a dawn lotus, a witherstalk, and a healing potion.” 

She was surprised when Cullen instead handed her a potion bottle. She gave him a startled and questioning look.

“I’m married to whom?” He asked her sardonically. “I recognize an antidote for poison when I hear one by now.” She smiled sheepishly and nodded, whispering her thanks.

“Drink it, Sera.” Dagna said, though she needn’t have; Sera clearly understood. The elf downed the contents, her face twisting nearly inside out at the taste. The mage took the bottle before it crashed to the floor and waved to the soldiers standing guard.

“I know the Inquisitor’s potions, Sera will be out shortly and most likely for a full day.” No one doubted her, especially as said woman nearly fell out of her seat. Dagna caught her shoulders to hold her up until one of the guardsmen picked her up.

“Take them to the Companion’s Wing.” Cullen ordered. It was the east wing of the Keep. He would feel better having the women inside the Keep for a time, rather than at the Rest. Chartreuse followed Dagna and the others, her task to help guard the Arcanist while Sera was out.

Harding entered as the others left, the two women clasping arms briefly in solidarity. Cullen smiled, one surfacer born the other exiled yet they remained sisters of the stone. 

“Report.” Cullen made a mental note to have Varric take over for Bull for now; the scouts needed to be reporting to one of their own, not the Inquisition Commander.

“Ser, Varric wants me to keep you updated.” Cullen gave a wry chuckle at that statement then sat down and waved Harding to one of the chairs opposite his desk. 

“I forget how efficient Bronwynn’s companions are, sometimes Captain.” Harding said in response, knowing he laughed because Varric had already taken command of the spies.

“I’ve been in the field with them,” she said with understated awe. “and I still find myself amazed at how quickly they all are at … well… assessing a situation and dealing with it,” she said. He nodded.

“That’s part of what makes them heroes, I think, Commander.” She went on. There was a matter of factness in her voice and he was glad she wasn’t in awe of these people who were just doing what they thought was best.

“What can you tell me?” He asked, bringing them back to the purpose of her visit, and the grimness of it.

“Dorian has been poisoned, and neither Stitches nor the Inquisitor are sure with what. She has  _ asked _ the scouts to gather as many herbs as possible from around all our camps.” Harding sighed. “Apparently she doesn’t have enough of them to create a potion?” Cullen shook his head.

“She most likely figures that if our people in the camps have something to do it will keep them from both speculating and panicking.” Her eyes widened, her mouth opened in an ‘O’, and she nodded. 

“That makes sense.” Harding sighed before continuing.

“Harrit has made some headway concerning the weapons. They’re only silverite but strangely they’re heavily enchanted. He’s not clear on  _ how _ , says that’s the Arcanist’s nevermind.”

“I trust my mage to cure the poison before that happens.” He commented. “Sera is going to be out for at least a day, unless you know someone else who is as skilled at enchanting as Dagna.” Harding shook her head no. 

“Go on.” He said. 

“We managed to find written orders on one of the corpses.” She handed him a slightly blood stained scrap of foolscap. 

“Strange orders, at that.” She told him. 

“Indeed.” Cullen agreed as he read the note. 

_ The Arcanist is too well protected where she is. Bring her to the market.  _

“Even stranger,” He went on with curiosity. “I recognize the handwriting.” He trailed off as he thought for a moment. He shook his head  before continuing.

“This has to be from a different person, or persons.” He said with frustration. “The first attack was to be an assassination, not a kidnapping.” 

“Would there really be two different groups trying to kill the Inquisitor?” Harding asked skeptically. 

“There are always threats being made, Captain.” Cullen sighed. “Therefore it is a possibility.” 

“What is the likelihood they would act at the same time?”

“That, Captain, is what we need to determine.” He answered, still looking at the note. 

“We need more information.” He groused, putting the note aside.

Harding agreed with him with a small grunt.

“Varric and I agree, Commander, we need to go on the offensive.” 

“Give me a target, Harding and I’ll gladly give you the arrows.” To that she sighed and nodded dejectedly. 

“I told Varric that’s what you’d say.” She bowed again and left his office.

Cullen let himself sag into his seat for a short time. He sent a prayer to Andraste for Dorian. After, he stared blankly at his desk, unsure what his next move should be when a thick envelope caught his attention. 

_ Damn and blast _ ! He thought to himself.  _ I completely forgot about about this letter _ . He recognized the seal as being from the  _ Black Emporium _ . 

“Now why would Xenon write me?” He asked himself, not realizing it was aloud. “More to the point,” he muttered. “ _ How _ did he write me?” The ex-Templar knew of the Antiquarian, of course. Knew that he was more mummy than man; most likely no longer human at all. If it ever had been. 

Using a letter opener, he carefully removed the seal. His glacier blue eyes quickly scanned the first page of the letter, the only part written in common. He drew in a breath sharply as he finished the page. Shaking his head no he quickly shifted to the rest of the missive, blue eyes widening in horror with each line he read.

* * *

The bedroom was a study of blues, grays, and whites. The Rivaini chirurgeon of Bull’s Chargers worked next to the Inquisitor to stem the blood flowing from their patient’s open wound.

Unable to concentrate on the interrogation he and Varric were overseeing, Bull returned to his bedroom where he found the two healers he trusted most scrambling to save Dorian. 

Bull stood at the foot of the bed, looming over Bronwynn and Stitches with a constant low growl. 

“Damn it!” Bronwynn muttered in frustration. She turned to the Qunari hovering at the foot of the bed, his fear so palpable it was affecting her ability to use magic.

“Bull, you need to step back.” Her eyes were more jade than emerald and filled with their own pain and fear. “Please, Bull. I can’t work with your emotions so out of control.” She tried to sound compassionate, but her desperation bled through.

“What will I do without him?” He growled at her. She gave him a look that he couldn’t interpret.

“We’re going to make sure you don’t have to figure that out, please, just step back to the door.” She was clearly trying not to be cruel. 

He wanted to shake her, wanted to shout at his love to wake up; instead he stepped back to the door of his bedroom. He watched as her shoulders relaxed then he felt the buzz around his horns that told him magic was in use. 

“It’s Monkshood and rashvine …” She frowned as she concentrated. “There’s paint in this…” she gasped in shock. “Vitaar? Who the fuck!” She swallowed with anger. “ _ How _ the fuck!”  Bull snorted in shock at her language, when he realized what she had said. 

“Vitaar?” He snarled, taking a step towards them when Bronwynn turned to face him; her eyes glowing solid green. 

“Stay there.” She commanded and the seriousness of her voice kept him in place. 

“I have an antidote for this, Bull.” She said and he wasn’t sure he believed it. There was a reason the Qunari used vitaar. 

“Stitches, my bag, grab the large red vial.” She commanded, the Rivaini moved quickly to get the bottle for her. 

Pouring a thick green liquid on the lighter wounds on Dorian’s inflamed left arm, she covered the area with healing magic and the wounds finally began to close. Bronwynn and Stitches stiffened when Dorian let out a soft groan; Iron Bull let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when the wounds closed. His heart pounding in his ears covering the soft sound Dorian made.

“Great.” Stitches said, indicating the now empty bottle he’d removed from the bed where she’d dropped it. “How easy would it be for us to make more if you don’t have any left?” 

“Thankfully, I have more.” She smiled reassuringly. Turning to Bull she took the bottle from Stitches.

“Bull, is Krem outside?” 

“Yes, Boss.” He answered dully. 

“Send him to my quarters, to get the other three of these phials from Eleana.” She tossed the bottle to him. He nodded, leaving the bedroom.

“Damn.” Stitches said as he sagged in relief. “I knew he was fond of the mage, Inquisitor, I didn’t realize it was this serious.” Bronwynn herself let out a slow breath while the man was speaking. 

“Stitch,  _ I _ didn’t even know it was this serious.” She had a small smile on her face though. She met the dark skinned man’s brown eyes and nodded to the open wound they were working on.

“We’re going to have to get this cleaned up.” 

“How?”

“Let’s start with the alcohol over there and some hot water.” she said. He grabbed the bottle of clear alcohol while she heated water in a basin. 

“Here.” Iron Bull said sliding to a stop by the bed, holding out the three bottles Bronwynn asked for.

“Did you run the whole way?” Bronwynn asked. 

“I needed to  _ do _ something.” He growled restlessly. She squeezed his hand after taking the bottles. 

“Then go get something to eat, Bull. You’re in the way here.” She told him gently. He frowned at her, but she pushed him towards the door. 

“Fine.” he groused and left. Stitches gave her a quizzical look when she suddenly cast a spell over the room.

“Inquisitor?” 

“We lucked out that he didn’t hear Dorian’s moan when we started with his arm.” She checked the appendage she was speaking of, pleased to see that the inflammation was gone and the wounds had closed.

“I doubt he’s actually going to leave the sitting room.” Stitches looked at her blankly for a moment before he realized what she meant. 

“Maker…” Stitches said on a sigh. “Mayhap he won’t wake up?” He said with hope. 

“Sure, pray for that.” Her voice was bland and he realized she was right. He was going to wake, and it would be screaming. 

* * *

Cremisius and Stitches peeked into their Chief’s bedroom from his sitting room two hours later. The bed stood on the far wall with the foot facing the door. Bull sat next to the bed, worry clear on his face. There was a roaring fire crackling away in the fireplace on the right side of the room with a hexagonal window reading nook to the left, directly across from the fireplace. 

“He’ll be okay?” Krem asked the healer, anxiety in his voice. He worried about the Chief, more than the others. He didn’t want to think how broken Iron Bull would be should Dorian not recover. He’d been excited for the man when he’d found the mage. 

“Eventually.” The healer sighed. He shook his head slowly when Krem glared at him. “Don’t give me that look, Krem.” He waved to the still man lying so pale upon the freshly changed bed. 

“It took us an hour to get as much of the poison out of him as we did.” The Rivaini man was shaking. “It was enough to save his life, for now; but if he doesn’t start convulsing before the night is through, it won’t matter.” 

“What is  _ she _ doing?” Krem asked. There was no disdain in his voice. He knew the Inquisitor wouldn’t have left if she didn’t have a plan.

“She’s working to make a healing potion combined with a regeneration potion combined with an antidote to poisons.” Stitches shook his head. “That woman should scare me.” He said. Krem just smiled as he closed the bedroom door.

“She took your poultice recipe didn’t she?” Stitches nodded in answer. “Then go to her laboratory and help her.” Stitches laughed and shook his head.

“ _ She _ ordered food and rest for  _ me _ . As if I am using more energy than she is. 

* * *

Inside the room, sitting beside the freshly changed bed; Bull sat staring at the man that had taken hold of his heart. He was unconscious, pale beneath his normally tanned skin and the mage seemed to lack the vibrancy he was so used to seeing, even when the human slept. His lover’s hand, dwarfed within his own, was cold and limp, absent of any signs of life.

The Iron Bull, self named as a joke upon the bas , only to have the joke turned on him when he met the mage lying so still, breathing so shallowly. These feelings roiling through his heart conflicted with how he was taught. He never expected this. To have fallen in love at all, let alone with a Tevinter mage.  _ He wasn’t even a redhead _ .

He placed Dorian’s hand back on the bed at his side and thought the crackling of the fireplace was louder than he remembered. He lifted his seven foot frame from the elegantly stuffed chair next to the bed and walked to the fireplace.

He then realized it wasn’t that the sound was louder, only that he was used to hearing Dorian’s laughter. He remembered the first time Dorian had entered this room, the look on his noble face. 

He smiled as he heard Dorian’s laugh in his mind. His real laugh, not the sound he used when posturing. Bull closed his eye and let the memories take him. He let the thoughts of this most amazing man drift through his mind. The laughter, the arrogance, the passion. 

Looking down at his lover now, all he felt was fear. All he could think was that he’d asked the Inquisitor what he would do without him. She had tried to reassure him that she wasn’t going to let him find out; yet he still didn’t know. 

When the Tamassran had told him he’d be sent to the Ben Hassrath, he’d felt more than proud. He’d felt complete. Eight years of Seheron had shaken not only his self-confidence, but his belief in the certainty of the Qun. 

He, Dorian, and Bronwynn had discussed his superiors treatment of him after Seheron. He’d come to the same conclusion they had, that the Ben Hassrath had abandoned him. This was why it’d been so easy for him to  _ play _ Tal-Vashoth, he’d known subconsciously that he was on his own.

Then he’d found the Inquisition, as well as Dorian, and Dorian took the Qunari as he was. Even when he complained vocally about his ‘lack of class’ he didn’t expect him to change. Not since he’d left Seheron had he felt so sure of his place in the world. The Iron Bull was no longer a joke on the bas. He had a place; a place in this man’s life, and he needed him. He loved him. But right now his love was currently fighting for his life. 

Bull sat carefully on the bed next to Dorian so he didn’t disturb him. He looked over the man’s body, nose wrinkling with anger at the still open wound on his chest. Stitches had explained they needed to let the wound dry after the treatment. A treatment that had left both he and the Inquisitor almost translucent. Hard to do to a man of Rivaini birth.

Bull took Dorian’s left hand in his, letting it lie on his palm. Dorian stood six feet and several inches tall, broad of shoulder, and well muscled. He was, as he liked to quip, quite  _ above _ average for a human. Now, however, he seemed so small.  

Scooting himself higher on the bed, still holding onto his lover’s hand, Bull reached up and caressed Dorian’s cheek.

“If you can hear me, Kadan, please come back to me.” He whispered. “I need you to fight this.” His deep voice cracked with emotion. “Fight and come back to me.” He lowered his head and a lone tear fell. 

“I… need you. You pompous, arrogant, defransdim, imekari, amatus, beautiful man. I need you dammit.” Now tears flowed freely from the warrior’s eye as he took a shuddering breath. Sitting so close to the mage, he realized that Dorian was putting off a chill. He knew the fire was heating the room since he himself was almost sweating with heat.

Dorian’s body was so cold, even though he was covered with blankets up to the chest wound. Still, the mage’s skin was chilled like the winter wind. Convincing himself that he did it only for the sake of warming up his lover and not because he himself needed the reassurance of his presence, Bull shed what little armor he was wearing, then climbed into the bed next to Dorian. Careful not to disturb him. Bull curled himself as gently as he could around his lover to share with him his warmth. As he lay there holding his heart in his arms, The Iron Bull finally drifted off to sleep.

Several hours passed while they slept. So exhausted was the spymaster, he didn’t even hear the door open when Stitches came to check on his patient. He’d moved silently once he’d seen the Chief sleeping. 

Bull woke with a start shortly after to Dorian’s thrashing. Unsure what caused it, he shouted out for help. 

“ _ Stitches _ !” Then he went about trying to hold down his mage so he wouldn't hurt himself more.

The healer burst in and took in the scene before him. The Iron Bull sitting atop of his patient’s hips, his feet hooked over Dorian’s knees with his hands on his shoulders, holding a thrashing Dorian down onto the mattress. 

“Get  _ her _ !” Stitches ordered the page that followed him in, then he rushed to the side of the bed. Dorian’s color had changed to a sickly yellow and foam had begun to seep from the corner of his mouth. He heard a strange popping sound and immediately began to speak.

“I’m smelling sulfur, he’s foaming at the mouth, and it’s more bubbles than foam.” He heard Bronwynn rummaging through a bag.

“He’s convulsing, boss!” Bull shouted, not liking the fact that Stitches was so calm and ignored the convulsing.

“That’s a good thing, Chief.” Stitches said, still calm. Bronwynn stepped around the healer with a vial of green liquid. 

“Bull, keep him as still as possible.” She said, also very calm. His one good eye focused on her face. Her eyes were on Dorian’s chest as she opened the vial. “Hold your breath, Hissrad.” She said before pouring the liquid over the wound. 

Dorian’s mouth opened on a scream and only Stitches putting his hand on his shoulder kept Bull from leaping from the bed. Bronwynn pulled another vial, this one clearly a healing potion. 

At least it looked like one, but when she opened it, the scents of dawn lotus, embrium, as well as amrita vein filled the air. He watched as her hands filled with green mist while she took hold of her friend's jaw and poured the liquid down his throat. 

Stitches moved to the other side of the bed and once she’d poured the liquid, he forced Dorian’s mouth shut. She infused his body with healing magic to stop him from choking on the liquid.

Dorian’s chocolate eyes were opened wide, but unseeing. Bull closed his eye, trying to hold back his tears. 

“Move, Chief.” Stitches ordered.

The large man rolled to his left, taking him off Dorian and the bed. While Bull watched, Bronwynn’s magic sealed the skin of his chest wound. 

Stitches slipped around the bed so he was beside the Inquisitor again, just in time to catch her as she passed out from having used up all her energy.

Bull moved to the bed, staring at Dorian lying there motionless once again. Stitches moved the Inquisitor to the chaise that sat by the window. Bull smelled a lyrium potion as he opened it.

“She doesn’t drink lyrium.” He said absently, almost numbly. 

“It’s not for her.” Stitches said before wafting the bottle under Dorian’s nose. The mage gasped in and shook his head. 

“What in the abyss is that? Natron salts mixed with lyrium?” Dorian croaked out. “Get it away.” Stitches smiled and did just that.

The Iron Bull collapsed next to the bed, his head on the coverlet, grasping his lover’s right hand in both of his. Stitches patted his commander on the shoulder, turning to help the Inquisitor as she roused herself. 

“Why do I feel like I’ve been raked over by Terror Demons?” Dorian asked, his voice still hoarse. Bronwynn slid next to the bed between Bull and the bedside table to  __ give her friend a sip of water.

“You almost died on us, Dorian.” She said, her own voice cracking with emotion. “I expect you’ll sleep again, soon.” As he had started to yawn she smiled, then leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead. 

“Don’t  _ ever _ do that to me again.” She whispered to him. Straightening, she patted Bull’s lowered head. 

“We’re leaving him to your care, Bull.” With that, she turned to Stitches who then helped her out of the suite.

* * *

Yet another week passed. Cullen, Varric, and Sera sat in Varric’s corner of the Great Hall discussing what they found. Bull had just joined them when Varric asked about the weapons.

“Dagna says the enchantment isn’t a rune. It seems the magic was literally forged _ into _ the blades themselves.” Bull said as he took a seat across from Cullen. His friends all gave him a critical once over and he frowned at them all.

“I slept last night.” He groused at them. All three laughed softly. “Tell me about the prisoner.” 

“He’s decided he’s not going to talk.” Varric said wearily. “And if  _ I _ can’t get someone to talk, I’m not sure who can.” Bull smiled a rather evil smile. 

“What do you need?” Cullen asked, Varric shifted uncomfortably in his seat while Sera looked at the two with curiosity. 

“Have a mage enchant a room with light. Bright light, and it needs to last for at least three days.” Cullen pursed his lips in thought. 

“I’ll ask Solas to do it.” The Commander said. 

“If the room is white, that will work better.” Bull said. Once more, Varric shifted rather uneasily. Bull turned to the strawberry blond dwarf apologetically.

“I’m sorry, Varric. It  _ is _ the fastest and most effective way to break a prisoner.” Varric shuddered. 

“As long as I’m not the one stuck in the room.” The bard said. 

“Why? Wot’s ‘e on about?” Sera demanded, impatient as always to know everything. 

“It’s a torture technique, Buttercup.” Varric said softly. “Constant bright light will make it hard for you to sleep, throw in a white room…” He shuddered. Sera’s green eyes narrowed in thought

“You gonna give ‘im ‘is food on a white plate?” She asked, and though she thought she was being clever, Bull nodded. 

“It may take a while, however. He is a trained Bard.” Cullen said to Bull. Who then frowned because Cullen shouldn’t be that sure.

“How do you know that so surely?” He asked suspiciously. Cullen gave him a wry grin.

“It is not always good to be so set in one’s routine.” He said before laying a sheaf of papers on the table between them. 

“Ah!” Varric said after looking at them for a long minute. “The letter! I’d forgotten about that gem.” his green eyes twinkled with curiosity. “You read dwarven?” He asked, his own grin mischievous. 

“I read Common, Dwarven, Rivaini, Nevarran, and Elvish to some degree.” He said with a sigh, sounding quite put out that Varric even asked. 

“Maker, Commander!” Sera breathed out in sudden awe. “Mayhap them Circles is good for more than keeping mages locked up after all.” Cullen and Bull laughed.

Varric shook his head ruefully and picked up the first two sheets of foolscap and began reading.

“Andraste’s blessed breasts!” He exclaimed in shock. “Damn Curly, you don’t do things by halves do you?” He picked up the other sheets in excitement, handing the first two to Bull. 

“Um, hate to admit this,” He said rather sheepishly. “But I don’t read dwarven.” 

“It’s a list of names, Iron Bull.” Cullen told his spymaster. “Names and descriptions of every assassin that was hired to kill the Inquisitor.” 

He hadn’t raised his voice, only the four of them knew what he had said, yet in that corner the pop of the logs in the fireplace was louder than anything else in the entire room.

“There are also snippets of conversations regarding the plan for it.” Varric said after a moment more. He took a deep breath. “Damn, Commander.” 

“It’s deep, it’s convoluted, but it’s also weak.” Cullen said. “It will hinge on finding the mage who enchanted those weapons, I think.”

“I’ll get this translated for Sera and Bull.” Varric said, and Cullen had a glimpse of the patron of House Tethras. 

“We’ll need a game plan, but it will have to wait until we have a better idea of all the players.” He looked at Sera. “If I give you a list of nobles, do you think your friends will help?” The blond elf gave a cunning smile. 

“I’ll head into Orlais myself, Commander, if it’ll keep keep Wynnie alive.” He nodded and rose. 

“Bull,” He said. “Let us know when Dorian wakes. We won’t tax him, but we need his input on this.” Bull frowned but grunted his agreement. 

“Until then, my office tomorrow after breakfast.” He nodded and headed to his quarters. The others looked at one another with a renewed sense of purpose. 

They didn’t yet know who the enemy was, but they had a path to them.

* * *

Blond hair, blue eyes, curvaceous. She had all her teeth and they were white and straight. She took good care of herself, always had. 

_ So why did  _ he _ stay with  _ her _? _ She asked herself. Looking in the mirror she turned this way and that to make sure she wasn’t sagging, or gaining weight. There were no imperfections on her creamy skin. 

Movement from behind her drew a frustrated sigh from her. One of the disenfranchised Templars, willing to do nigh anything for his daily dose of lyrium. 

_ At least he looks like  _ him _. _ She thought, pasting a smile on her face when he looked hungrily at her.  _ And he actually does want  _ me _.  _

She made her way over to him slowly, letting herself paint an image of the other Templar she wanted over the man in her bed before joining him there.


	3. Chapter 3: Second Act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovery and recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own any of Dragon Age, at all. I don't get paid for this either.

 

       Dorian lay in his bed wondering how long he’d been stuck there. He knew he’d slept quite a bit, both Stitches and Bronwynn assured him this was both normal and good. He’d been poisoned.

 _He_ had been poisoned. It boggled the mind. Of course, being waited on hand and foot by his incredibly talented lover made being bed ridden slightly easier to bear.

Dorian groaned softly as his bladder began to make its presence known. He’d already dismissed the male servant Bull asked to assist him; having felt rather ridiculous to have the man waiting for him to want or need something. Now, of course, he regretted it.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Iron Bull asked, rather sternly, as Dorian threw the covers off his legs.

“I _was_ going to the loo.” He answered sardonically.

“Where is Varvel?” Bull asked with a raised eyebrow. Dorian made a moue of his mouth and stubbornly lifted his chin.

“I’m sure the man has things he’d rather be doing than waiting on me.” He said obstinately. From behind the Qunari came a scoffing clearing of the throat. Dorian groaned.

“Varvel, did you actually go and _get_ Bull?” The mage whined. The elven servant merely answered, yes, not coming back into the room. The look of embarrassment on Dorian’s face caused Bull to take pity on him.

“Thank you, Varvel, I’ll call you when I leave,” he said before closing the bedroom door.

“I know I can’t go running around like I normally do, Amatus. I do, but I _can_ use the toilette by myself.” As embarrassed as his voice sounded, his face had taken on a very proud expression. Bull sighed as he walked to him.

“I didn’t expect Varvel to actually _hold_ it for you.” He reached out with his hands and held Dorian’s arms as he lowered himself from the bed. “That being _my_ pleasure and all.” He was pleased that he’d gotten a grin out of the petulant mage.

“I merely want him to help you walk when you need to. To be ready to get you things so you don’t have to try and reach the bell. I just worry,” He said softly as Dorian shifted to walk. Dorian sighed and gave Bull a sad look. “I also don’t want you to overdo it.” The mage sighed yet again, this time Bull chuckled at his lover.

“Let me take care of you, Dorian.” He said when he let the man go so he could relieve himself. “It makes me feel as if I am … helping … with your healing.” The garderobe door opened and Bull resisted the urge to pick him up. Just five feet from bed to gaderobe and back and his lover was pale and sweating.

Bull was grateful when Dorian held out his right hand for him. He quickly and gently took his arm, letting him put his weight there for support.

“Will you carry me?” He asked, and Bull lifted him, took two large steps and laid his lover gently on the bed. Dorian chuckled lightly at the extra care.

“I really am not used to being quite so cared for.” He admitted. “Seeing as it stopped once I became Alexius’ apprentice.” He grabbed Bull’s hand to hold it tightly before he could slip away from him.

“Stay, I’m bored.” Bull could hear the desperation.

“I am not reading to you.” He groused.

“Oh? Well then, tell me what you learned from Cullen instead.” Bull raised his eyebrow in his infuriating way.

“Why?” He asked. The mage looked at him with sardonic disdain.

“My love,” he said quietly. “I have a job to do.” Bull shook his head in denial.

“Until _I_ decide you’re ready…” Dorian interrupted before he could finish that.

“Amatus,” he said, taking Bull’s hands in his own. “I love you.” He made sure to keep his voice calm. “But _you_ are not going to be able to keep me in this bed forever,” he grinned then, with promise. “Unless it involves ropes and sex that is.” The Qunari snorted and pressed a kiss to his lover’s lips before getting up from the bed.

“Fine, but for today it will be with a book.” So saying, he picked up a tome Dorian had been reading. Making himself comfortable next to Dorian, he picked up reading where he’d left off.

* * *

 

Another week passed, and Dorian was getting frustrated. His recovery was taking longer than he anticipated. He was used to being healed quickly and being back on his feet within the day. One of the best things about magic, actually. There was something about the poison mixture, though, that made this process take much longer. Since he’d regained consciousness, he was still only able to amble about for short periods of time before he needed to stop and rest.

Because of this, of course, the servant hovered. Varvel’s nose would get out of joint when Dorian set him to tasks that would take him out of his quarters. Invariably, Bull would show up to fuss over and at him.

His only true reprieve was when Cullen showed up with Sera and Varric to discuss the latest developments in the case. Bull was there as well, naturally; and these sessions tended to upset the big lunkhead quite a bit.

Dorian was getting more than a mite testy about it himself, although for different reasons.

Today was going to be different, the mage decided. Today he was going to leave their suite of rooms and he was going to prove he was no longer on death’s door to everyone.

Including himself.

So, having traded out the blade normally on the end of his staff for a solid oak claw to help support his weight, Dorian strode from his quarters boldly; if rather slowly.

He found himself resting just inside the entrance to the Great Hall on his way toward the handsome Commander’s office. He was sweating and out of breath, leaning against the doorframe; really, he was sagging against it.

            _It was the stairs that did it to me._ He thought to himself. _If I hadn’t had to navigate those blasted stairs, I’d be fine now_. _Where is that damned Qunari when I need him_? He asked himself, too weary to even look around.

“Kaffas!” The mage swore softly. He hated feeling like this. Hated feeling like he was a burden. He hated depending on those around him, feeling so weak. He especially hated the _incaensor_ that _fucking_ assassin had used on his exceptional person.

Not that he felt so exceptional now. _Now,_ he felt as if he were going to fall down.

Dorian leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Perhaps Cullen’s office _was_ a bit too far. _Maybe_ he’d try for the table that was only a dozen paces away, even if Varric sat there, oblivious to his plight. With the way he was feeling though, it might as well have been leagues away. It was still out of his reach.

Dorian didn’t know Varric had been coming up to see him while he was maneuvering himself, slowly, down the stairs; nor had he realized Varric would recognize the pride set on Dorian’s face; so, rather than offer to help himself, he’d gone to his usual table and sent a page to let Bull know what the idiot mage was doing. Then he’d sent notes to Cullen and Bronwynn who were watching from separate doors to join the group as soon as Dorian arrived at the table.

“Kadan?” Dorian heard from his left. Smiling in relief, he turned to see the worried Qunari, who had found him after all.

“I was wondering how long it was going to take you to find me amico mea. You have impeccable timing as usual.” The exhausted mage said as he sagged into his lovers arms, using the embrace as a mask for his trembling limbs.

Bull grunted in surprise at the sudden weight, then growled in frustration at his stubbornness. Only two weeks since he’d been injured; by a poison that no one had heard of no less, and he thinks he’s supposed to be in full form already.

“You should really be back in bed, Dorian.” Bull admonished his charge. “Bronwynn told me that I shouldn’t allow you to over exert yourself.”

“Venhedis! I’m bored, Bull! I need fresh air!” The mage whined. “You try staying cooped up with only these crappy southern books to read day in and day out. You’d go crazy too!”

Bull laughed outright, although not unkindly. He agreed, the books most southerners had access to were either hideously written or pathetically dry.

“Pequeno amor, I may be able to solve at least that problem.” Bull said as he picked Dorian up. The new words intrigued the Tevinter man.

“I haven’t heard that one.” He said with curiosity, pointing to a chair next to Varric, who’d been watching the whole scene with humor.

“It’s native Rivaini for _little love_.” Varric told Dorian; then turned with a laugh toward Bull. “I find it odd that you _speak_ a language that is mostly only heard inside the borders of Rivain but can’t _read_ Dwarven.” He waved for a servant.

“It’s not... wasn’t my job to break Carta codes.” Bull replied obstinately. “And now, I have others to do it for me.” He finished smugly.

“Well, you’d do well to have someone from the Merchants Guild here to keep you abreast of the news from Orzammar.” Varric countered. He asked the servant for Rivaini tea and soup for the mage, who then glowered at him.

“I despise tea.”

“Too bad, Sparkler. I have it on good authority that it helps healing.”

“On _whose_ good authority?” Dorian asked disdainfully.

“The Admiral of the Raiders of the Sea.” He jovially quipped.

“There is no such person!” Dorian cried.

“I’ll admit, I think she’s bullshitting me.” Varric laughed. “Isabela is just as good as I am at spinning a tale.”

The tea came along with lemon cakes. Dorian smacked Bull’s hand when he tried to take one.

“ _These_ are for me, amor, especially if I have to drink this tea.” He raised his nose in the air as he pulled the plate to himself. He laughed outright, however, when the servant placed another plate of the desirable delectable dessert on the table.

“Bring another plate of those and more tea as well, Bettina?” They all looked up as Cullen asked the servant for more while he pulled out a chair. “Good. I don’t have to walk up those blasted stairs.” He said with a twinkle in his eyes.

“I’m thinking of moving the two of you to a first-floor suite.” Bronwynn quipped to the group as she also joined them, surprising them all. “Oh, don’t give me that look. I’m _allowed_ to spend time with my friends.” This had the desired effect of drawing laughter from the others.

* * *

When the bells tolled half past the next hour Dorian stood, declaring that he was tired. Bronwynn scoffed, claiming he was just upset he wasn’t the center of attention, to which he retorted that _clearly,_ she’d gotten hit too hard by a demon.

He felt better, though, for all that he truly was exhausted. A full hour with his friends had given his waning spirits a much-needed boost. Now though, as they made their way slowly to the stairs, Dorian began to lean more heavily on his lover. When they were completely out of view from any witnesses, Bull lifted the exhausted mage into his arms and carried him the rest of the way to their room.

“I can walk you know.” Came the tired, yet disgruntled, voice from in his arms.

“You can, but at your pace we’d still be walking long past Satinalia.” Bull bantered back. “You keep a good grip on your staff, I’ll carry you, and maybe we’ll make it before your hair turns grey.”

“I’d rather have a firm grip on your staff.” The mage quipped sleepily.

“When you’re better, my love.” Bull responded but Dorian was already asleep in his arms.

Carrying him the remaining distance to their bed, Bull gently laid Dorian down. The ox man was as gentle as his overgrown frame would allow him to be as he went to work removing Dorian’s clothes. Seeing the scar that would forever adorn his lover’s previously unmarked chest, he ran his calloused fingers over the top of it. A painful reminder of what he almost lost.

With a heavy sigh, he made sure that Dorian would have everything he needed when he awoke within easy grasp of the bed. Then he grinned and rang for Valvan. There was a merchant that had just arrived that the Boss had assured him would have almost anything he desired.

* * *

“Enchantment!” Bull frowned when he heard this; said with the excitement of a child but in the deeper tones of an adult. “Beth’ny!”

Bull peered over the edge of the stairs leading into the yards to see where it was coming from. There, just inside the gate, was a small caravan. It was made up of two dwarves and their guards. Indeed, he counted twelve guards in total.

The Warden, Bethany Hawke, was on bended knee, hugging the dwarf who had called her name. Bull couldn’t hear what she was saying, but when the dwarf released her, he clapped his hands with glee.

“ _That_ ,” Bronwynn said as she stopped beside him on the stairs, “Is Sandal.” The smile on her face looked good on her.

“And he is?” he asked.

“Bodahn and Sandal are merchants, though Bodahn is getting long in the tooth, even for a Dwarf.” She pointed to an older dwarf he hadn’t seen, sitting on a throne like liter. His beard had gone from full red to threaded with silver.

“Do you know him well?” Bull asked the Inquisitor. She shook her head no.

“He worked for my cousin in Kirkwall; for just over eight years, I think.” She waved her left hand towards the group then linked her right arm through his left to lead him down.

“I met him, briefly, just before the blight. He impressed me with his wares.” She smiled up at him. “As well as with his knowledge.” Bull waggled his eyebrows in response. She nodded as if to say _just so_.

            “Sandal is his adopted son. He’s also a savant, he can enchant anything, and since they’re here, I’m hoping he can show Dagna how he does it.”

            “Mages can enchant as well.” Bull pointed out. She shook her head.

            “Not like _him_ ; and I think if he sees the weapons he’ll be able to teach Dagna how it was done.” Bull nodded. They reached the head of the stairs down to the lower yard and were standing under the upper arch when he stopped her.

            “Inquisitor.” He hesitated, and she reached up to take both his hands in hers and squeezed.

            “He’s getting better.” She said. “The poison is gone, it’s just going to take a couple more weeks for him to get his strength back.”

            “I feel … so …” he growled under his breath.

            “Normally, I’d give you an amusing anecdote about myself and Cullen, but I don’t have one from my perspective.” Her voice was gentle. “I _can understand_ how you’re feeling,” she sighed. “But maybe you could ask Cullen for advice on how to deal with it; if you want advice that is.” She offered. He grinned at his friend.

            “When I offered up my services, kadan, I thought for sure I’d end up suggesting we find a way to put you down.” He told her. “Now,” he pulled her close for an uncharacteristic hug. “I’m glad you’re my friend.”

            “Who’d have thought you’d find four mage friends, eh?” She asked as she hugged him back.

            “Who would have imagined me falling in love with one.” And though he sighed as if put upon, she heard the gratitude in his voice.

            “Come on, let me introduce you to Bodahn and Sandal, and I think Bodahn’s apprentice.”

* * *

 

            Night had fallen. A cool spring breeze filtered through the open windows, the banked fire just enough to keep the mountain chill away. Varvel set the tray with dinner for him and Bull in front of the fire, though Bull was running late.

            Valven helped the dark-haired mage clean up and dress and Dorian hadn’t fussed about the necessity after his exertions that morning. Bull entered the room shortly after, clean and changed himself; which annoyed Dorian for some reason.

“Sorry I’m late, kadan,” The Qunari said, dropping a kiss on Dorian’s forehead before helping him to the table and sitting down himself while trying to hide a package by his chair.

“What’s that? A pressie? For me?” Dorian teased. Bull chuckled at the cajoling tone Dorian used.

“Later, my love.” Was all he would say. Neither noticed how the elf smiled to hear them.

“We have a new merchant at the Keep.” Bull announced, successfully distracting Dorian.

“Oh? What are his wares?”

“He has quite the variety, actually.” Bull said with awe. “I am truly amazed at what the Dwarf was able to find to bring to us here.”

“ _Such as_?” Dorian pressed, slightly impatient.

“ _Such as,_ the latest fashions from Minrathous.” Bull replied, laughing at the look of hope on Dorian’s angular face. “As well as a few trinkets from Nevarra, Rivain, Antiva, and even the Free Marches.” Dorian pulled a face.

“Antiva, truly?” Bull laughed at Dorian’s expression and sarcastic tone. “The only good thing to have come from Antiva is our dear Ambassador.”

Valvan cleared the table after they’d eaten their fill, left them with mulled wine, and bid them goodnight.

Dorian sat beside Iron Bull on the long sofa before the fire, his head on his lover’s shoulder, humming contentedly.

Bull was holding Dorian’s fingers tenderly, tracing them unconsciously, while listening to him hum; the sound more comforting than usual. He thought about the conversation he’d had with Cullen after speaking with the merchant.

_I remember once; early in our relationship, Bronwynn was attacked inside a ritual room._

_Greagoir had pulled me away for a discussion, and one of the other mages lost control of the demon that had been summoned._

_As bad as that was, the bloody young man was also a blood mage. This added an entirely new meaning of terror._ Here he paused, and the look of horror on his face was familiar to Bull.

_Senior Enchanter Sweeney, the man leading the ritual said Bronwynn should have died that day. That self-centered idiot became an abomination and killed three of the mages nearest him before slashing across the circle into Bronwynn. She had been standing next to another Senior Enchanter, Wynne. Thankfully, only one of the claws got through her and Wynne’s barriers; but that was enough._

He chuckled disparagingly at the memory.

_Wynne didn’t know how my mage managed not to fall right then, but she didn’t. She told us that Bronwynn whipped her staff in an arc, giving the abomination a matching wound. Once it was reeling from that, she cast a spell that Wynne had neither seen nor heard before and the abomination was gone. Bronwynn collapsed then, from her wounds and exhaustion. It wasn’t until much later anyone knew she’d taken his magic._

_Wynne and Anders, the Hold’s best healers, worked for days to stabilize her. When neither could heal her right away…_ Cullen met his eyes then and it was clear that even now, the thought haunted him.

 _Anders was the one who figured out it was a fade-based poison and managed to heal her of it. Took her almost a month to recover._ Cullen then sat back in his chair, memories of his fear for her playing across his face.

 _You’re going to want to coddle him forever._ Cullen gave Bull a look that he couldn’t interpret. _You won’t_ want _to touch him, either. I recommend you ignore that feeling. Trust me, you don’t want to have that argument_.

Bull sat thinking about what Cullen said and how he felt now. If the fear and worry was going to get worse than this, how could he ensure it didn’t?

“Kadan,” Dorian said softly, lowering his hand to to Bull’s waistband. “I wonder if we could, perhaps…” his voice trailed off as Bull stiffened. His mind raced as he thought how to not hurt his lover’s feelings but also not make love to him.

He then remembered Cullen saying one last thing before he left. _Remember you_ can _be gentle, despite how very large you are._

Deciding to swallow his fear, he picked Dorian up and carried him to their bed. Helping his mage undress gave Bull time to gather his thoughts and control.

* * *

 

            Cullen entered the tower chamber to find his mage ensconced in nothing but her wavy, fire red hair, sitting on the bed with her knees drawn to her chest. He sighed as he looked at her, drinking in the vision of her creamy skin peeking through the curtain of tamed fire.

            The actual fire had been banked low, enough to keep them from freezing in the night, not enough to make the spring air sweltering. In the dim lighting, her green eyes glittered like the emeralds he’d given her for their wedding.

            “Did I ever tell you?” Her voice was soft, the dulcet sound soothing to nerves he knew were jangled from his conversation with Bull.

            “Tell me what?”

            “That day, in the ritual room?” He nodded, unsurprised she knew exactly what he’d been thinking. “That was the day I knew it wasn’t just lust.” He took in a deep breath at the admission, then began to undress. She easily hopped off the bed to assist him with his armour.

            He hadn’t realized her hair had gotten so long. She grinned at his frown and slapped his hands away when he moved to toss her hair over her shoulders.

            “Don’t you want to know what I mean?” She asked him, moving tauntingly to his left to unhook the chest plate.

            “I know what you mean.” He replied. Once free of the armour he made short work of the rest of his clothing. She moved so her back was to the bed, laughing at the look of concentration on his face.

            “Oh?” She asked on a soft moan when he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her enough to swallow her left breast. He waited until she was squirming in his arms before he answered.

            “It was the same for me.” He gasped. She’d wrapped her muscular thighs around his hips and pulled so he was pressed against the full length of her pussy, the heat nearly scorching him.

            “I thought I’d lost you.” He whispered throatily against the hollow of her neck, his tongue tracing the bands of muscle there.

            Cullen lifted her once again, this time using his right knee to slide her onto the bed. He pulled her hair gently from underneath her and slid her a little further up, shifting so he could slip inside her.

            “Oh, Maker.” She moaned softly. When she tried to lock her legs around his hips he chuffed a laugh and whispered, no.

            Lifting her hips, he slid his knees under her ass, so that she was effectively sitting on his lap with her legs around his waist.

            “Cullen.” She sighed, gripping his dick with the walls of her pussy, holding him tightly inside her.

            “My only thought,” her voice was quiet but sincere as he moved inside her, slowly and deliberately. “Was that I hadn’t told you I loved you, aaahh!”

            He stilled, holding himself just inside her, letting her words fill him.

            “The hardest part about you being unconscious for a week,” he told her; his voice also quiet but sincere. “Was not knowing if I was going to get to tell you.”

            He looked into her emerald eyes as he began to move inside her again, slowly filling her completely before withdrawing. His hands sought and found hers, entwining their fingers together.

            With gazes locked, they moved together.

            Time seemed to stand still, her breath caught between his thrusts; her eyes widened, seemingly lit from within with a green flame.

            His mouth compressed, though his blue eyes remained fixed on hers, for the first time he noticed the blue-green aura that surrounded them.

“Bron.” He moaned softly just as she gasped his name.

His body went rigid when he came inside her, her body froze under him, around him, as she fell over the cliff with him.

Minutes passed before he collapsed on her, arms and legs shaking from the intensity. He burrowed his face into the hollow of her shoulder and neck, breathing in the scent of her.

“I love you, husband.” She whispered in his ear as she lovingly caressed his body. He squeezed her gently before rolling to his side, pulling her into him.

* * *

Dorian’s heart was racing as his lover scooped him up to carry him over to their bed. He thought for sure that Bull would refuse him. He’d been almost ready for it when he saw Bull’s initial reaction... Not that he could truly blame him, especially after his exhaustion from earlier in the day. He’d seen the worry on his lover’s face.

Sitting so comfortably together in front of the fire, this overwhelming desire seemed to come from out of the blue. They’d enjoyed an almost perfect evening together. Dinner had been both delicious and romantic, their favorite dishes artfully prepared. True, Bull had shown up late and hadn’t cleaned up in their room; but, he had been freshly bathed and smelled delectable sitting next to him after dinner. As Dorian snuggled into Bull’s shoulder, he was suddenly overtaken by how much he wanted this incredible man next to him.

            The last couple of weeks showed him a side of Bull that Dorian had only been witness to a handful of times, and only when the children of the Keep were around. He was gentle, kind, doting.

Bull has always been an attentive lover, but he was also so much more than that. By nature, he was very observant and that easily carried over into the bedroom; always knowing what Dorian needed and when he needed it. Though his lover always made sure that Dorian himself was thoroughly satisfied, most of their previous sexual encounters were playful and rough, as well as loving. Tonight, Dorian was seeing a completely different side of him.

            Once he was divested of his clothing, Bull kissed him deeply and gently. When he came up for air, he whispered sweetly.

“Yes, my Asala. Only,” he paused in hesitation. “Please promise me you’ll tell me if I hurt you.”

“I promise.” Dorian readily agreed. Reaching up, he ran his hands down the perfectly muscled chest of the man above him. Looking up into his lover’s eye, he saw how much Bull wanted him. His own fears over that damned scar or his current state of weakness, completely washed away with the desire written plainly on his face.

The Iron Bull was nervous, but there was nothing on Thedas that would allow him to deny the man beneath him what he wanted. He was beautiful, witty, an incredible lover, and Dorian loved him just as he was. Unconditionally. How could he not return those affections? He wanted this. He wanted to show Dorian that, beyond a shadow of a doubt, he found him, desirable.

Looking into those deep brown eyes, Bull dipped in to kiss his lover, parting his lips with his tongue, he deepened the kiss and felt Dorian moan beneath him. Panting and breathless, Bull whispered, _Meravas_ , then stood to remove the rest of his clothing before climbing back into bed.

Keeping Cullen’s words in his mind, he began to slowly show Dorian how much he meant to him. How much he wanted and needed this gorgeous man below him. The shear rigidity of his cock spoke of his desire, but his hands and mouth sang their own sweet accompaniment.  

Bull kissed his way from Dorian’s delicious mouth down his chest. Whispering, as he descended, words of adorations, how incredibly attractive he thought his lover was, how much he loved him. His large hands spoke their own adorations as his mouth caressed his flesh. Touching, tender and true, finding Dorian’s rigid member, he moaned with appreciation as it jerked when he wrapped his hand around the shaft and stroked it gently from base to tip.

Bull paused at the scar across his lover’s chest, kissing it tenderly from one end to the other. Releasing Dorian’s cock, he kissed his way back up his body and claimed his lips again. Laying gently on top of him, careful to not release all of his weight, he still felt Dorian flinch and stopped, staring fearfully into his eyes. Removing his weight fully, Bull searched Dorian’s face for guidance, for permission to continue.

Dorian sat up, taking Bull’s face in his hands, he kissed him deeply, soothing his fears. He then wrapped his long fingers around Bull’s thick shaft, bringing his attention back to where it needed to be.

“Hmm, perhaps not like this, just yet.” Dorian smiled seductively. Kissing him again, he pushed Bull out of the way, so he could turn over on his knees.  Laying his face gently on the bed, his chest resting, protected, on a pillow.

“I think, for now, this would be safer.” Dorian purred, giving a little wiggle of his backside.

Seeing Dorian presented so incredibly before him, Bull reached up and caressed his luscious ass. Running his hands tenderly up his back and down his sides; letting him know that he was still here, still his, and still--very much--wanting him.

Reaching into the drawer on their bedside table, Bull found their bottle of lubricant. Peppering kisses across the mocha skin before him as he sat up again, he heard Dorian’s soft sigh of approval.

Laying the weight of his thick cock along the cleft of Dorian’s ass, Bull began to drizzle the oil over his shaft and onto the tight opening. Slowly he stroked himself, using the flesh beneath his own to help spread the oil, preparing them both. Sighing with anticipation, with desire, Bull lined himself up for entrance.

Dorian moaned as Bull stroked himself against his flesh. He wanted this; craved being filled and consumed. To be needed, wanted, and not just an invalid requiring care; burdening those he loves with his daily necessities. He wanted to give something back. It had been too long; the mission, the battle, his recovery. He didn’t want to wait anymore; he _needed this_ , now. Pressing himself back, he felt Bull slip just inside his tight ring of muscle, pausing to let him relax around his incredible girth.

As he adjusted, Dorian felt more oil drizzled where their bodies connected. Bull then began to slowly glide in and out, in tiny increments, until he was fully sheathed inside.

“Amatus.” He breathed out when he was completely filled. The hands caressing his hips as they slid together perfectly. Beautifully. Those giant, _gentle_ hands, holding him in place, firmly, keeping him where he needed him as he slowly slid his length from hilt to tip. His partner angling himself exactly where he needed him. Instead of the forceful quick thrusts of their couplings past, he took his time carefully pleasuring Dorian; worshiping him, slowly caressing him from the inside as well as out.

Arching his body over Dorian’s, protectively, possessively, Bull kissed his way up his spine, running his tongue over every muscle and ridge as his lover moaned below him.

“It’s been too long, Kadan, you feel...Mmmm. I will not be able to last long.” In truth, it was taking all of his willpower to focus, to remain gentle, to not give in to the pleasures before him and drive them both over the edge with his usual energetic thrusts. Reaching down to take Dorian’s length in hand, he found the mage’s hand already in place, matching his thrusts, stroke for stroke. Stroking along with him once, then again, he let Dorian continue as he reached down to grip Dorian’s sack as it grew tighter with his imminent release.

Dorian began to rock into his body slightly faster than he had been, moaning and begging for his own release, chasing it. He finally went rigid and shouted out his climax when the pleasure washed over him.

Feeling Dorian constrict around him, Bull finally gave in to his own finish. He continued to pump slowly in and out of his lover until his own climax subsided. Slowly extricating himself, he rolled over and collapsed in a completely sated heap.

Tossing the pillow that caught all of his own spend off the side of the bed, Dorian crawled over, laying across Bull’s chest and cupped his face tenderly in his hands. He kissed him deeply, passionately, and full of all the love that his heart was overflowing with.

“Thank you, Kadan.” Dorian said breathlessly. Laying his head on Bull’s broad, muscled chest, he wrapped his arms around the man that had just brought him such incredible pleasure and completeness. “I… love you so damn much it hurts sometimes.”

“You were supposed to stop me if I hurt you.” Bull teased.

Dorian chuckled. “Not like that you great oaf. You were perfectly… well, perfect, actually. And though I may be a bit tired, I am otherwise fine, so please don’t worry about me.”

“I can’t help but to worry about you, you stubborn Vint. You’ve taken ahold of my heart and dug your claws in.” Pulling Dorian gently to his chest, he held him close, kissing his brow. “Please, don’t let go.” He added in a whisper.

“I don’t plan to.” Came the smug reply from the sleepy mage resting comfortably and content in his arms.

* * *

Dorian woke slowly to the sound of birds outside the window, still wrapped securely in his lover’s arms. His body was positively humming with the afterglow of their lovemaking. He was sore, yes; his muscles unused to any real exertions as of late, but it was a sore that he could happily live with.

            Stretching luxuriously, if cautiously, Dorian turned his whiskey eyes to the man responsible for his current lassitude. Once more, he marveled at his own temerity.

            At first, taking the Qunari as a lover had felt like a betrayal of his people, but he’d been unable to deny his own fascination; the damnable man had been right about that.

Dorian had made his way to these chambers just over a year ago, haughtily sheepish in his desire. Despite his initial embarrassment and the inevitable teasing when everyone learned of their pairing, he didn’t actually regret a moment of their time together.

            Sure, the sex was nice. Better than nice; pretty much the best he’d ever had; and that was saying something. This very gruff, low man, had captured his heart. Not _just_ with great sex, but with how deeply he cared about those he considered _‘his’_ as well.

            Dorian let his eyes wander over Bull’s face, peaceful and relaxed in sleep. His own, unconsciously grinning giddily as he drank him in.

“See something interesting?” Bull asked sleepily.

“I see an incredibly amazing man who makes me happy.” Dorian replied smugly. He looked deep into Bull’s glacier blue eye, before leaning down to meet his lips.

“How are you feeling, Kadan?” He asked, worry written plainly on his face.

“I feel fantastic. In fact, I believe I may be ready for round two.” He grinned wickedly before throwing his right leg over Bull’s hips to straddle him. “What do you think? Are you ready for more?”

“I was thinking, that you might want to see what I found for you at the merchant’s yesterday.” Bull deftly deflected.

“Oooh, pressies! That’s right, you hid a rather large bundle by your chair, didn’t you?” Dorian positively glowed with excitement as he began to climb off the bed.

Catching him mid-action, Bull lifted the mage, settling him back on the bed, comfortably propped up by numerous pillows.

“You are like a kid during the holidays.”

“Yes,” Dorian laughingly answered. “That’s because you _always_ spoil me, Kadan.” Dorian beamed.

He watched idly as Bull walked naked across the room to the table they’d eaten at the night before.

“Well, that’s a view for the ages.” Dorian said with a salacious laugh, to which Bull turned to give his lover a wink in return.

Straightening, he hefted the bundle with a flourish before bringing it back to the bed. He satnext to Dorian but didn’t immediately hand him the bundle.

“I was thinking about what you were saying the other day... about being bored up here while you were recovering. Some of this is to help with _that_.” He held up the bundle of items. “Other’s are… well, just because I think you’ll like them.” Bull’s grin turned sheepish as he laid the package gently onto his lover’s lap.

Dorian looked down at the neatly wrapped bundle tied up with a bow. He then grinned up at Bull as he pulled the string confining his goodies. When the cloth wrapping fell open, Dorian found several bundles individually wrapped inside. Rolling his eyes, he laughed at the game before him.

“You didn’t think I would make it that easy now did you?” Bull enjoyed the mirth he saw in Dorian’s eyes.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Amatus.” Setting the smaller items off to the side, he chose one of the larger items to unwrap first. His eyes lit with excitement as the deep brown velvet cloth appeared from within its wrapping.

“It matches my eyes perfectly, amor.” Dorian said happily letting his fingers drift over the softness of the fabric. “It would make the perfect winter cloak!”

“My thoughts exactly, Kadan.” Bull kissed his cheek sweetly before removing the cloth from his hands and draping it over Dorian’s shoulders.

“What other wonders have you gotten me?” He asked with glee as he picked up the second bundle.

“A book, my love?” He asked, humor lacing his voice, but when he unwrapped the book, he gasped. “ _The Theory Behind Demon Creation_ by Magister Dorian Pavus!” His voice caught, and tears filled his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Bull asked concerned.

“How did you get this?” Dorian’s voice cracked as he spoke.

“Bodhan, the trader.” Bull said, cautiously. Dorian looked up in wonder, set the book aside, then leaned over and kissed him gently.

“I don’t know how _he_ got it, but thank you,” he whispered. “This was written in the Blessed Age, and _obviously_ I was named for the author.” He smiled in memory. “I must have read it a hundred times growing up. It’s my favorite book.” The Iron Bull gasped softly in surprised delight.

“I bought it because it was from Tevinter and it had your name on it.” He admitted ruefully, bringing laughter to his partner.

“Two very good reasons to buy it, my love.” The mage said through the laughter.

“So, what is this third item?” He asked sarcastically, since it was obviously another book. Bull grinned at him rather wickedly.

Holding his breath, he carefully removed the wrapping. His breath came out in a surprised woosh and he almost dropped it.

“ _The Magic of the Elvhenan Before the Fall of Arlathan_.” He looked once again at Bull.

“This was written by Wynnie.” The awe in his voice amused the Qunari.

“I take it the Inquisitor is an authority?” Bull asked. Dorian’s eyes widened in horror.

“Amatus … not only is she an authority, _this_ is the _only_ book on _magic_ she has _ever_ _published_.” Dorian spoke with a whisper that sounded of hero worship. “Do you know how hard this book is to find? I’ve been looking for it for… and you just hand me a copy!”

“Then you like it?” Bull asked. Dorian’s response was immediate.

            “Carissime…” Dorian whispered as he set his prizes off to the side and leaned in, kissing his lover ardently. He moved, now standing against the side of the bed between Bull’s knees. Dorian pulled him in for another deep kiss before he began kissing and licking down his well-muscled body.

            Bull moaned under his lover’s expert tongue. “Dorian.” He gasped. “What are you doing?”

            “Hush, Hissrad. You spoil me.” Dorian said between kisses. “Let me at least say, _thank you_.”

His hands began roaming over Bull’s body, finding his rapidly rising heat. His tongue circled one of his taut nipples biting it briefly causing Bull’s head to fall back and a low guttural moan to escape his lips.

Stroking the thick shaft with his hand, Dorian slowly kissed his way down toward his ultimate goal. Pausing briefly as his chest twinged, he covered his gasp with a moan and gripped him even tighter before descending to wrap his lips around the swollen head of Bull’s now fully erect member.

Taking him into his mouth, as deep as he could manage, Dorian used both hands and his mouth to fully engulf its length and girth. Stroking him while gently raking his bottom teeth over the sensitive underside of Bull’s cock, grazing him to the tip causing his lover to buck his hips and moan loudly.

He loved the taste of him. Loved how something so simple could leave him quaking and at his mercy. Laving his tongue gently over the path his teeth just traveled, he soothed him only to take him into his mouth once again.

Hollowing out his cheeks, he sucked, tongued, and stroked Bull until he was moaning in ecstasy. The tightening of his scrotum telling Dorian that he was close.

He wanted to taste his release. Pulling Bull to the edge of excitement, he hummed in appreciation to the sounds he was hearing. That added little vibration causing Bull to shout out his release; his body rigid as he pumped his hot seed into Dorian’s eager mouth. So enraptured by the reactions of his lover, Dorian neglected to notice the warmth dripping down his own chest. He kissed his way back up his lover’s body to claim his lips for his own once again.

Chest to chest with his lover, he was shocked when Bull’s head tipped back up. Dorian was expecting to see lust in his ice-blue eye; but instead, there was confusion and fear, and he didn’t understand why.

“What is that…? _Shit_!” Bull touched Dorian’s chest and gasped in shock when it came away bloody. Bull quickly lifted him up and laid him gingerly down on the bed.

            “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Dorian! What did I do to you? Shit!” The usually collected spymaster was suddenly in a panic. Grabbing the sheet from the bed, Bull was gently trying to dab away at the blood without actually touching the source.

Looking down at his chest, Dorian finally understood why Bull was so upset. He’d managed to split open about three inches of his newly healed scar and it was weeping blood once again.

            “Oh! Well, when did that happen?” Dorian said calmly, curiously, before gliding his hand over the wound and sealing it with his magic. Taking the sheet from Bull’s hand, he tossed it in the corner before sliding from the bed and going to the bureau with the wash basin.

            He turned to see the normally laid-back spymaster pacing the room, seemingly in a panic, muttering to himself.

“ _I knew this was a bad idea…. too soon… I should never have…”_

            “ _Bull!_ ” Dorian raised his voice to break through his tirade. “I’m fine, see? Wound is sealed.” He waved to his chest, trying to get him to see that he was fine.

“I’m not the healer Wynnie is, but small openings like that are not beyond my skills.” He used his most persuasive tone, kept his voice even, and by sheer dint of will, kept the sudden tremble out of it and his limbs.

Bull, however, heard the waiver of Dorian’s words and saw the way he gripped the wash cloth in his hands. For a long moment he stared at him like he was on his deathbed once again.

Dorian realized that calling his partner frightened… might be putting it lightly. Bull rushed over, lifted Dorian, and gently carried him back to the bed.

            “I need to get Stitches, have him check you over. Bron’s probably busy this morning, so Stitches can see to this.” He began heading for the door when Dorian yelled for him again.

            “ _Bull!_ I’m _fine_.” He shouted, anger giving his voice strength. “Vishante kaffas! _Put some pants on at least_!” He called after the Qunari hurrying from the room.

            Looking down at himself, only half listening, he absentmindedly slipped into his breeches, tying them as he continued out the door. Two steps out, he turned and looked back over his shoulder. Dorian was struck by how lost, afraid and determined his anima alterum looked.

            “Please, Kadan,” he pleaded. “Don’t move, just...just stay there until I get back with Stitches or Bronwynn.” Bull closed the door behind him as he shouted for Varvel.

Dorian scrambled for blankets and barely had himself covered when the servant entered a moment later to watch over his charge.

* * *

“Chief, he’s _fine_.” Stitches repeated for the third time an hour later. “He’s just tired.” The human sounded quite exasperated with his boss.

            “The wound came open.” Bull repeated, for the fourth time. Stitches tried a different tack.

            “And it will probably do so again.” He told the mercenary captain. “Even if all he does is lie there and breathe.” This caused the Qunari to stare at him in horror. “Stop, Chief.” He said before the man could start to speak.

            “Look. Dorian is a good mage.” The healer said. “That means he is able to heal himself.” Bull closed his mouth and listened.

            “He did earlier, but… he was trembling after.”

            Stitches sighed, at least Bull was listening now. The hardest part of this whole mess had been watching this man he respected so much fall to pieces. The Chargers as a whole would die for this Qunari and seeing how much the mage meant to him only made this harder.

            “Chief, I swear, he’s fine. Yes, the poison has sapped his endurance; but he is gaining that back quickly.” The Rivani born healer put his hand on the other man’s arm. “Just be patient, Chief.”

            The Qunari sighed deeply and nodded his head, though he did it wearily.

            “Fine, I’ll try to be patient.” He groused, before heading into the bedroom.

* * *

            Another two hours had passed, and Bull was restless. He was grateful when he learned Solas had completed magicking the room, it gave him something to do.

            He left his and Dorian’s quarters, walking softly so as not to disturb the sleeping man. Varvel nodded to him as he left, keeping himself busy with cleaning the sitting room they normally used during the day.

            The servants he passed either bowed or nodded to him while he walked. He returned all greetings with nods or salutes, though he didn’t realize he wasn’t wearing his customary grin and left worried whispers in his wake.

            His large stride took him quickly down the hall and into the upper courtyard. He waved to the soldiers at the training field but otherwise simply kept moving toward the prison.

            “Where is he?” He asked the guards on duty.

            “Third cell, Ser.” The woman replied, pointing to the only cell that was currently occupied. He nodded his thanks before moving into the cell in question. The elf stood, posturing as if at a rout in Orlais. Iron Bull gave him a smile. It wasn’t a friendly smile but it wasn’t menacing either.

            “Hey.” He said conversationally. “Names the Iron Bull, maybe you’ve heard of me.” He watched the man’s eyes widen just enough and quickly enough to give himself away. Yes, he knew who Bull was. That was good, now Bull began the interrogation, he knew most bas would find this counterintuitive, but results don’t lie.

            “I’m not sure how much you know about the Ben Hassrath, Bard.” He went on. “But we aren’t all one thing.” He leaned his left shoulder against the wall, crossed his arms as well as his leg, the epitome of casual.

            “There are the spies, like me.” He said, no change in the inflection of his voice. “Our job’s simple as well as vital, just like yours.” He watched the minute shift of the Bard’s shoulders. He was getting uncomfortable just standing like that, posturing.

            “We just send reports, eh?” He nodded as he said it, unsurprised when the Bard didn’t nod as well. The elf he was talking at was an older man. Though clearly not a servant he was likely used to being treated as one. Bull knew just how well the elves of Orlais were at playing The Game; and since he was in his later thirties, if not early forties then he thought he was a master of it.

            “The bulk of the Ben Hassrath; The Heart of the Many in common parlance, are priestesses. They teach the Qun, raise the children… Ya know, the important things.” Bull switched his position, moving to the other side of the cell and taking up the same stance, forcing the elf to turn his body.

            _If he were truly good at mind games he wouldn’t have been standing_ Bull thought to himself. _Bad for him, good for me. He’ll likely break without too much work on my part_.

            “Now,” Bull smiled, more of a grimace; as if to say this next statement was truly unpleasant. “The Viddasala.” He sighed, shaking his head to show regret.

            “Men and women who are very good at … re-educating … those who slip from the Qun.” His bad eye was farthest away from the prisoner now, so the man could more easily read the good one, but Bull was a past master of controlling his expression. The elf saw only what the Qunari wanted him to see, which was horror tinged sadness.

            “We all had to learn a bit of the process, you understand. Wouldn’t be able to know what was happening to us if we didn’t.” He’d softened his voice, lower octave as well; forcing the elf to concentrate to hear him. When the elf leaned forward slightly Bull deepened his voice again.

            “Talk to me now, friend.” He said soothingly, almost beseechingly. “I can promise the alternative won’t be pleasant.” He turned his face away from the cell, looking at the three guards who’d been waiting outside the cell.

            “I am unafraid of torture.” The elf said, his words heavily accented. Bull smiled humorously before turning to face him again.

            “You think Her Worship, the Herald of Andraste, the Warden-Commander of Orlais, _the Inquisitor_ would allow me to do you physical harm?” The Iron Bull asked, voice still low, but now very compelling. When the elf nodded Bull and the three guards all laughed, heartily; as if the man had made the best of jokes.

            Bull straightened and stepped so he was standing at the center of the cell, fully facing the elf for the first time.

            “You Bards should do more investigating of your targets and those that surround them.” He advised. “The Herald has stated you are not to be hurt and you should be grateful.”

            “Why?” The elf asked, fear coloring the words, though his body betrayed no such emotion.

            “You hurt two of her friends.” A guardswoman answered as the other two drew weapons. “She’s very particular about that.”

            She made quick work of binding his wrists to his elbows behind his back. The elf swallowed, though only Bull caught the motion; he said no more as he was led from the prison into the Mages Tower, which alone was enough to heighten the man’s fear.

            They entered the Tower from the yard, Morris and his crew had located an opening when making renovations of the Tower. The mages had taken delight in clearing and repairing the rooms, though they had left the three rooms that were on the level of the Upper Courtyard empty after the work was done.

            Solas stood beside the only door to the left, glaring white light spilling into the hall. His normally somber expression even more so. The bald elf raised a hand to stop the guards before they took the other elf into the painfully bright room.

            “I know what is intended here.” He said. “I ask you to speak freely, answer our questions honestly, do not put yourself through this.” Solas’ voice was as soft and even as always, kind even. He sighed with regret when the other man merely sneered at him.

            He nodded to the guards who then led the man into the room.

            It was a rather large room, ten feet by fifteen feet by ten feet. As tall as it was wide, the reason it was the only room on this side was its length. The guards walked him to the center of the room, the man was now squinting in the glare of the room. He looked down when he felt something being wrapped around his left ankle. He frowned when they were done putting the shackles on his legs, thinking the chain was longer than it was.

            The room, beyond being glaringly bright, was uniformly grey. Walls, floor, ceiling and even the door were all grey. The elf waited until the guards had left the room, the door still open to make his move.

            Two steps forward and he fell, nearly slamming his head into the stone floor with the force of his tumble. He lay there stunned for a long moment, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

            “Now you understand the leg shackles.” Iron Bull said as he helped him stand, adjusting the bindings on his arms so he was now tied at the wrists in the front. “They won’t allow you a long step.” The Qunari’s voice held no malice. “You’ll be fed and you’ll get water.” The Qunari told the elf before leaving, this time locking the door behind him. The elf started counting to himself as he waited for the guards that had to be outside the door start talking. He had reached a hundred before he realized there was no sound coming from outside the room.

            The man slowly and awkwardly made his way to the door. That was when he realized he’d had his eyes closed but was still seeing the light. He had to open his eyes to find the door but in doing so found himself blinded by the glare of white from every corner of the room. He could make out very little of the door; there was no window and no handle either. The paint so uniform and the light so bright that he was almost unable to find the edges of the door, even when he was right next to it..

The Bard then carefully walked the walls of the room, dragging his shoulder along the stone, trying to find anything to shade his eyes; when he realised there was also a hum within the room.

The sound was low, barely audible but there and now that he heard it he couldn’t tune it out. It wasn’t a comforting sound, like the waves of the Waking Sea or Lake Calenhad and it reverberated through his chest.

 He stepped away from the wall, just one step but the hum followed.  

His squinting didn’t keep his eyes from watering and he could feel the first stirrings of true fear in his chest. He’d turned to walk back to the door and saw the table through the glare.

            At least he thought it was a table. The elf grunted as he shuffled to the piece of furniture, unsure if it was an illusion. He knew the mages of the Inquisition wouldn’t be allowed to use their magic to harm him, but they could use illusion.

            He confirmed it was real and that It was a table; and there was a bowl of water on it. Now he realized he was thirsty, but he was unsure if he should drink or not. As he watched, the table and the water faded from view. He frowned, disoriented and more confused than ever.

            The elf squatted on his haunches to ease the weariness in his feet, sitting that way for only a second before hurriedly rising and stamping his feet. The vibration was now in his feet, not his chest. He began to shuffle around the floor, trying to alleviate the feeling.

* * *

            The dark-haired elf turned when he heard the door open. He had no idea how long he’d been in the room, it felt as if a whole day had passed, but he was sure that couldn’t be right.

            He was surprised to see the Qunari spymaster enter the room, even more surprised the table was in the room once more; for the third time, with two chairs this time. He followed the big man with his eyes, and that’s when he noticed the room was darker. Not by much but he was able to open his eyes wider. He could see more clearly.

            “Here, take a seat.” Bull said. His voice was soft, kind, soothing when compared to the humming ... that the elf just realized was also gone. His body folded in on itself with the relief, had Bull not caught him he would have cracked his head against the stone floor.

            “Hey now. None of that.” Bull sat the man down in the chair then untied his arms. He even went so far as to rub the limbs to bring feeling back into them; once more keeping the man from cracking his head when feeling returned.

            “My fault, and I’m sorry about that.” The horned man said. “I only meant to leave you for an hour, not three.” His voice wasn’t loud, the elf had to strain to hear him but it was better than that hum.

            “Now,” Bull said kindly after sitting across from the elf. “What’s your name, friend?”

            “Dirthara.” Bull nodded, an impressed look on his face.

            “A good name for an elf and a spy,” A knock on the door startled the elf, though he was too tired to do more than flinch. Bull rose and opened it, his large frame blocking the view. He murmured what sounded like a thank you before closing it once again. The elf neither saw nor heard who was on the other side of that door.

            When the spymaster turned, he held two trays. One laden with food the other with a large wooden cup and bowl. He placed both on the table between them.

            “Here’s the deal.” Iron Bull said when he’d sat down again, stretching his legs out to get comfortable. “You answer my questions and I’ll let you eat from this plate.” He held his large hand over the full plate. “Balk, and you’ll be left with the gruel and water.”

            When Dirthara reached for an apple that was on the full plate, he half expected the other man to stop him. Bull smiled and nodded encouragingly when he reached for the cup of water. The elf drank the cup dry.

            “I hope you have been drinking the water that’s been left for you. Don’t want you to get dehydrated.” Bull nodded, still smiling, and Dirthara nodded along with him.

            “Good.” Bull gently took the cup from the elf, putting it aside. He knew Solas would make sure it was full again. “Despite everything that’s happened over the last few weeks, the Inquisitor still manages to find time for her people.” He smiled fondly as he said this. “A mage bringing the world together, frightening eh?”

            As he didn’t seem to expect an answer to the statement, the elf didn’t make one. He was eyeing the plate of food, however. Waiting for his chance to grab something from it.

            Iron Bull kept talking, mostly as if to himself, though he gave nothing away. He asked enough questions, simple yes or no questions to keep the elf engaged and awake. Since the man answered each one; and Bull didn’t care if they were honest answers or not, he allowed him to eat. Once he had eaten half the plate and had drank three more cups full of water Bull rose from the table, the elf rose with him.

            “I apologize for this, Dirthara.” He said, sounding as if that were true. “But you _are_ a prisoner.” The elf was tired enough he didn’t struggle when the Qunari re-tied his arms, albeit not nearly as tightly as before. Bull turned him away from the door, distracting him with even more light banter. He never saw the table being magicked away.

* * *

            Meg waved to The Iron Bull when he walked in, lifting her chin towards his usual corner of the lower floor. He nodded in response as he made his way to the other side of the stairs. He glanced wistfully to where Krem usually ‘kept watch’ over him. The boy was very protective of his Chief.

            Once again, Bull gave thanks to the powers above that Bronwynn had been quick thinking enough to get her Qunari alliance and still keep his boys alive. Since then Bull had worked diligently to create his own network of agents within the Ben Hassrath.

            He had been happily surprised when Tallis had sent a list of agents to the Inquisition through the Boss’ cousin Hawke. Many of them having, like himself, been abandoned by the Qun. With Cole’s help he had been able to secure their assistance for the Inquisition.

            He watched Meg, the main barmaid, as she made her rounds of the tables upstairs. He gave the dwarf, Eldritch a jolt when he greeted her. She’d thought he was napping again. He grinned when Varric climbed onto the chair across from him at the table, pulling out a deck of cards.

            Two hands of Wicked Grace later the dwarf finally asked about the prisoner. Bull kept his answers short and vague before conceding the next hand and returning to the prisoner. It had only been two hours, but Bull knew the man wasn’t going to last long. Bardic training was about filtering information through distraction. This poor Bard stood no chance against boredom and exhaustion.

            “Did he drink this time?” He asked the mages on watch. They were scrying on him, following the timeline Bull and Solas had set up for them.

            “Yes, though he doesn’t get much before we take it away.” One of the older mages said. There was distaste in his voice.

            “I know you think this is cruel.” Bull said. “And it is; believe me, though. It could be so much worse.” The two men frowned, and it appeared they wanted to argue when Solas entered the room and added his voice.

            “We aren’t using drugs, we aren’t beating him.” Solas said, though he too sounded disgusted with the proceedings. “Iron Bull is right, it could be worse.”

            “Not by much, though.” Bull admitted under his breath as he left the room. Only Solas heard him.

            He hadn’t lied to the man earlier, it had been three hours, now he would lie. He entered the room, striding forward quietly. The mages dimmed the glow in the room, ended the humming sound, and when Bull was past the middle of the room conjured the table again; this time Solas put food on the table. The drink would be a slight stimulant.

            “Tell me, Seeker of Truth.” Bull said jovially. He still kept his voice soft, enough that the elf had to focus to listen. “Did you have any questions for me?”

            “How long were you gone?” His Orlesian was slurred, his body slumping.

            “Only an hour this time.”

            “What do you want from me?”

            “I am certain you know what that is.” Bull answered. His tone was friendly, if disappointed. “I dislike using this room.”

            “We were hired by the Crows to kidnap the dwarf.” Dirthara said.

            “Really?” Bull said, doubt clear. “And I have a lyrium laced golden eye under my patch.” He laughed heartily at his jest, then reached across the table and patted the elf’s shoulder.

            “That’s okay, friend.” He went on. “I know you think I’ll kill you when you tell me.” The elf raised weary eyes to investigate the ox-man’s good one. “I won’t. We of the Qun never waste a tool.”

            Bull re-tied his arms and left the room. The elf watched in dawning horror as the table and the food on it disappeared.

* * *

            Bull spent the night in the mages tower in the room across from the prisoner. Neither he nor Solas took any pleasure in the changes they ordered to the torture. Both men knew what they were doing, they knew the consequences of their actions.

            Bull had insisted on using older mages to assist with the sound and temperature changes as well as the adding and removal of the table and water.

            Twenty-four hours had passed since he’d been placed in the room. He had lost all track of time, he actively looked for the Qunari to enter and relieve the boredom. Now the elf was starting to fall asleep. Bull then had two of his own agents come in. They were outfitted with charms to keep them from hearing or feeling the sound as well as to keep their eyes shaded from the light.

            Their task was to prevent the elf from sleeping for more than a few minutes at a time. They would walk him the width of the room, ask him questions and shake him when he didn’t answer quickly.

            It would all stop when Iron Bull came into the room. Dirthara, now unable to guess how much time had passed since he’d seen the Qunari last, begged to be allowed to sleep. He wanted to sleep so badly that since the only respite he got was when the Inquisition’s spymaster came in, he looked forward to it.

            “Dawn of a new day.” Bull said when he entered the room, though it was actually midnight. The elf began to sob when Bull sat him in the chair again. “Looks like it might rain, even.” Bull reached out and took the wooden cup in hand, gently helping the exhausted elf drink.

            “Who hired you, friend? Tell me Dirthara.” He asked, his voice soft, cajoling, kind.

            “Marquise Bouffon.” He whispered in response several minutes later.

            “Why? Do you know?”

            “On behalf of an associate, in Tevinter we think.” Once more Bull helped him drink, even gave him a bit of gruel, knowing the poor man was too tired to chew.

            “Who is we?” The spymaster asked, kneeling beside the elf.

            “I do not know my patron’s name.” He answered.

            “Where were you to take her?”

            “Cumberland. The market there. We were going to give her to another group there.” Bull sighed and patted him on the back before lifting him from the chair and standing him once again.

            “Please. No. Let me sleep, let me out of this room.” The elf begged. “I will answer anything, please!” Bull heard the door open and turned, Cole was there, a disapproving look on his face. Bull merely raised his brows at the spirit boy. Cole’s nose wrinkled, and he nodded.

            Dirthara was broken.

            The Iron Bull called the other two in again. The elf at first began to take heavy halting breaths before Bull had the shackles removed. He ordered the elf taken back to the prison and put in one of the more comfortable cells.

            “Fair warning, Seeker of Truth.” The Qunari said before he was led out. “This room will still be here.”

            Solas entered when the elf had been taken from the tower.

            “Do you think he told the truth?” He asked, and Bull sighed as he watched the other man remove the light spell from the room.

            “I didn’t expect him to break so soon; but yeah, I think he’s telling the truth.” He followed Solas out as they left the tower.

            “Bards aren’t really trained to handle this type of torture.” Bull said.

            “True.” Solas agreed. “They are usually twisted by their training to believe they have no emotions.” Bull was nodding when they entered the Herald’s Rest. Varric had just sat down in what was being called the Charger’s area.

            “Bards are also taught to withstand physical torture.” Bull went on. “The Game as played by Orlais isn’t always as elegant as many want to believe.” Varric snorted laughter at that.

            “Orlesian Bards give all Bards a bad rep.” He quipped. “The Crows are much better assassins and are often better entertainers as well.”

            “I agree, stone child.” Solas said with his customary solemnity. “Of course, I believe the people of Orlais have forgotten what they actually play for.” The three fell silent when one of the barmaids came over with a tray of drinks for them.

“So what started this happy conversation?” Varric asked after she had left them.

            “The prisoner.” Solas said, his voice tinged with more sadness than usual.

            “Whose name, by the way, is Dirthara.” Iron Bull said scoffingly. “Now, if that is his true name or not, I’m not sure I care.” Solas looked at the Qunari questioningly.

            “What does that matter?” Varric asked.

            “His name means to learn, to seek truth.” Solas supplied. “Ah, that is why you called him Seeker of Truth.”

            “Partly, yes.” Bull said. “For a spy that’s a good name; but my _name_ under the Qun,” He had made air quotes around the word name. “Is Hissrad.” The other men gave him blank stares.

            “It means keeper of illusion.” He snorted derisively. “Or more accurately, liar.” He shrugged. “I thought it an amusing irony, the seeker of truth stuck with the liar.”

            “I suppose that is a more accurate description of a spy than Dirthara.” Solas said. “For a spy must lie to most of those around them.” Varric grunted his agreement.

            “Well,” Varric said with a stretch and a yawn. “I am off to bed.” There was a twinkle in his eye that suggested he wouldn’t be alone in that bed. Bull and Solas laughed lightly as he strode quickly from the tavern.

            “You should be getting back to Dorian, my friend.” Solas suggested. Bull sighed and seemed to deflate.

            “I understand there was a slight relapse the other day?” Solas asked, giving his friend the chance to open up his fears.

            “ _Everyone_ tells me he is _fine_. That I shouldn’t worry so.”

            “What are you worried about?” The older elf asked.

            “He almost died.” Bull said softly. “I have only just found him, and he almost died.” Solas nodded his understanding.

            “And when you spoke of your worries to the Commander?”

            “His advice was to not let my fear get the best of me.” Bull replied.

            “I know Dorian will over extend himself, if allowed.” Solas said. There was a commiseration in his voice that had the big man look up at him. “I had to learn to say not yet.” There was a smile on the man’s face that reassured Bull.

            “I think Cullen said the same thing.” He admitted to Solas.

            “Worry is what we do when we love.” The ancient elf said. “It doesn’t mean we think they’re incompetent. It means we don’t want them to get hurt.”

            “And I fell in love with a human mage.” The Iron Bull said. “The synchronicity of it is perfect, no?” Solas laughed lightly with him.

“I imagine he feels the same towards you.” He responded, causing the broad-shouldered man’s good eye to widen with shock. “Yes, he worries as much for you as you do for him.”

“I … I should get back to him.” Bull said, the shock of revelation still on his face. “I don’t need him to worry himself into coming to find me.” Solas laughed as the big man hurried from the tavern.

As he watched, the people in the tavern began to slowly leave, many of them stopping to chat a moment with him before they left. He could see how they were all connected, and not just through the Inquisition.

She truly had done more in one short year than he had before he put up the Veil. He had destroyed his world in an effort to change it; she simply showed the people of Thedas that _they_ could effect a change.

In spite of her knowing what he had done, she had offered him a chance to make a palpable change. She had offered him a way he had thought couldn’t work. Here it was eight months after and it was working. Slowly, yes, but all worthwhile spells took time to cast.

Solas sighed to himself and rose as the clock chimed half past one and made his way to his own quarters. He, like her other friends, would do whatever was necessary to keep her alive.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In where we find out what we're dealing with, or we don't.

 

Nearly a month after the failed kidnapping, Dorian was finally able to join Cullen to work on the list he’d received from the curator of The Black Emporium. He’d been unsurprised to learn hardly any progress had been made since both Bull and Sera’s minds had been elsewhere and Varric was truly better suited to a much smaller theatre for his agents to work in.

“Varric is correct,” Dorian said into the silence that hung over Cullen’s office that morning. “If we could just find the Crow named Ginnis we should be able to confirm at least half of these.” He indicated the notes Varric had made throughout his translation of the letter. 

“The only one without a clear description.” Cullen groused.

Dorian sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. He and Cullen both jumped in their seats when the clock struck twelve. 

“Have we actually been at this for six hours?” Cullen asked woodenly. Dorian looked him over with concern and noted the tell-tell signs of pain and weariness around his eyes and in his shoulders. It had been awhile since Cullen had suffered an attack of withdrawal from the lyrium, but it looked like the stress of the last three months was triggering one. 

“It seems so.” Dorian stretched the ache out of his own shoulders. “It’s too far to the Hall,” he said, rising to call a servant. Cullen chuckled at him when he did. 

“Too far for  _ you _ to walk, but not a servant laden with food?” Cullen asked, not meaning to sound so acerbic. Dorian snorted disdainfully in response. 

“Unless I have completely misread Varvel; which I admit is possible, he will have convinced both Louden and Cook to ensure there is food waiting to be brought to us as soon as we ring for service.” Cullen narrowed his eyes at Dorian doubtfully.  
“How and _why_ would Louden be convinced to have servants waiting to do that?” 

“The man is as devoted to you and Wynnie as Eleana is and would rather you not be put out by having to leave your office while investigating these attacks.” Dorian pointed out wryly. 

“Bronwynn, he’s devoted to Bronwynn.” Cullen corrected, only to have Dorian laugh and shake his head in disagreement.

“Louden is just as proud to be the head butler of your household as he is to be serving the Inquisitor. Most likely, has  _ always _ been proud to serve you.” Dorian said knowingly.

“How do you figure that?” Cullen asked doubtfully.

“I imagine there was a decided danger to both you and Wynnie while you were in Kirkwall?” Dorian asked and Cullen nodded yes.

“If I remember correctly, the nobles of Kirkwall weren’t fans of the Templar Order because of Knight-Commander Meredith, yes?” Cullen nodded once again, his face twisting into a grimace.

“What were the chances they would have gossiped about her Knight-Captain sleeping with a mage?” Cullen snorted before answering.

“I imagine they did.” 

“Had that been the case, even  _ I  _ would have known of it.” Dorian told him. “I knew who Bronwynn was;  _ The Warden Mage who’d cured the blight _ .” He said with pomposity. 

“That is the only thing you knew of her?” Cullen asked doubtfully.

“Haha. No, I first learned of her from my time in the Circle; her treatise on alchemy ensured my peers and I were forever counted hopeless if we didn’t immediately grasp the concepts she posited.” 

Cullen laughed outright at that statement. 

“ _ You, _ I had heard of after the fall of the Ferelden Circle.” Dorian suppressed a shudder at remembered conversations with Cullen during some of the darkest nights of winter. “I didn’t hear of the two of you  _ together  _ until after the Breach.” Dorian told Cullen thoughtfully. 

They each stared into space, lost in their own thoughts of those early days of the Inquisition.

“My point in all this, however,” Dorian went on, “is that servants will gossip. Indeed, for those here in Southern Thedas, it is almost necessary they do so.” Dorian held up a hand to forestall further questioning. “It is vital to their employment opportunities. Who they  _ worked _ for matters in many cases.”

“How does that prove Louden is devoted to me as well as Bronwynn?” 

“He wouldn’t have prevented the servants under him from gossiping about  _ you  _ if he  _ weren’t _ just as devoted to you.” Dorian said. “I know this because I didn’t know you and Wynnie were lovers until Haven.” Cullen’s clearly doubtful look brought light laughter from the mage.

“You can always ask Sera.” He said. “If anyone will tell you how ‘ _ the people _ ’ feel, it will be her.” Cullen still looked doubtful but chose not to continue the conversation. He turned his attention back to the letter.

Dorian frowned and looked at the eastern door, just about to wonder aloud what was taking the servants so long to answer the bell when it was opened by Louden. The man stepped into the room to place a folding table beside Cullen’s desk while directing the servants that followed.

“M'Lord Rutherford,” He intoned politely. “I apologize for the delay. We unfortunately ran out of your preferred tea.” Dorian raised his dark brows and pursed his lips in an ‘ _ I told you so _ ’ expression.

“Louden, there are only two of us here.” Cullen said, clearly overwhelmed by the amount food that was being placed in his office.

“Yes, Ser.” Louden answered but made no move to change it. He gave the set up a critical once over before nodding to Varvel.

“Call when you are ready, Varvel.” Louden then ushered the servants from the office before bowing to the men and taking his leave.  
“Varvel.” Dorian said with wry humor. “You are aware the Commander and I are able to serve ourselves?” 

“Of course, Ser.” Was the answer, though the elf still loaded plates before placing them beside them where they were working.

Cullen covered his eyes and shook his head in defeated amusement while Dorian simply chuckled at the futility.

Dorian noted the smell of elfroot in the tea and made a note to himself to reward Louden for his thoughtfulness. He knew Cullen would think Bronwynn had ordered it, but Dorian knew better. 

“Dorian,” Cullen said, excitement in his voice. “I think we have a possibility here.” He moved his plate of food to the side and shuffled the paper so Dorian could look at it from his place across the desk.

The mage did just that, reading the paragraph Cullen pointed to aloud.

“ _ Although I haven’t been able to find the actual person or persons responsible for these planned acts, I do believe there is a mage involved. _ ” Dorian raised his brows as he read. “ _ I have traced the money to Tevinter and I believe that if you start there you may find information that will hopefully lead you to the culprit. _ ” Dorian shook his head as he finished reading.

Dorian sat back in his chair and gave Cullen an incredulous look.

“I should give you a serious jolt, Commander!” He exclaimed. Cullen barked out humourless laughter in response.

“Indeed, if I’d read this when you gave it to me, instead of concentrating on what I found on my own…” He shook his head in disgust at himself.

“What else does he say about the money?” Dorian asked before pulling his plate closer to himself to continue eating. 

Cullen also ate while he continued reading. 

“Only that the money is being funnelled through the market in Cumberland and all the listed assassins were hired through the same intermediary.”

“That, in and of itself, is strange; is it not?” Dorian asked, only to have Varvel answer.

“Indeed not, Ser.” He interjected. “Assassin companies will often use the same contact or contacts within any given city.”

“Cumberland is a large city, though.” Cullen said. “Why use the same one for all of them?” Varvel frowned as he thought.

“It could be, M'Lord, that the person behind the attacks only had enough influence or coin for one contact to be willing to work with them.”

Dorian and Cullen gave the elf identical calculating looks. 

“Varvel,” Cullen said slowly. “What did you do before you joined the Inquisition?” 

“I was a Crow, Ser.” Again, both men looked at him in shock.

“And who are you working for now?” Cullen asked cautiously while Dorian readied a handful of ice.

“I work for Lords Pavus and Iron Bull, Ser; per Lady Montilyet’s request.” Cullen swallowed his impatience.

“Who are you after, Varvel?” Dorian asked baldly, knowing it was unlikely he’d answer.

“Ah, yes, that.” The dark haired elf smiled benignly. “I, er, faked my death, Sers.” He told them. “I felt that a hole in the sky that was bleeding demons was more important to fix than murdering a young bride after her wedding night for her family.” 

Dorian and Cullen each gave Varvel thoughtful looks before Dorian asked why Varvel chose to become a servant instead of offering his services to Bronwynn.

“I did, Ser.” He replied. “She and Lady Montilyet decided my skills would best be served as a servant since it would be the most inconspicuous position for an assassin.”

“I suppose Josie suggested to Bull that I be given to your care specifically?” Dorian asked snidely.

“No, Ser.  _ She _ asked me if I would be willing to serve the two of you after the attack.” Dorian raised his brows at this statement, to ask why.

“I agreed because I admire the work you have done with the Inquisition as well as what you have done to help my people in Tevinter.” Varvel smiled before continuing.

“I have no wish to see your work, or even the work of the Inquisitor, cut short.” He nodded to the men before him. “If my knowledge can help, ask me anything.” 

“Thank you, Varvel. I appreciate it and will take you up on it, starting now.” Cullen said. He motioned for him to take a seat, but Varvel shook his head no.

“Please, will you tell us who the players in Cumberland are; or were while you were still active?” Cullen asked rather than argue the point.

“Indeed, Ser.” Varvel asked for parchment and quill before motioning for the two to finish eating while he wrote down the names for them.

* * *

“I have two names for you, Commander.” Dorian said grandly when he entered the office the next day. 

“Do I want to know why I get two new names?” Cullen asked sardonically. His dark haired friend laughed heartily. 

“I imagine the Inquisitor is often renaming you.” The mage quipped before sobering up.

“I take it you have prospects for the weapons dealer?” Cullen asked dryly in response.

“Aye.” Dorian nodded and handed Cullen a sheet of foolscap.

“The first is a Vitus Denarius.” Dorian’s face twisted into a disgusted grimace. From reading the information he’d just been handed, Cullen could see why.

“His father sounds like the stereotypical Tevinter Magister.” Cullen commented. Dorian hmphd in agreement. “What isn’t on here?” Cullen asked him. 

“Danarius is dead, by a former slave and the Champion of Kirkwall’s hands, no less.” Dorian answered and Cullen frowned in thought. 

“There were two elves Hawke travelled with. A Dalish woman and a man with lyrium embedded in his skin.” Cullen said after a moment of thinking. Dorian shuddered at the description.

“That is a horrible thing to do to a person.” Dorian replied with feeling.

“I take it the process requires blood magic?” Cullen observed and Dorian sighed before nodding. 

“My father once looked into the process, wanting to know what the advantage would be.” Dorian said. “Considering the person it is done to typically loses their memory from the trauma of it all, as well as it taking blood magic, my father decided it made no sense to do it.” 

“His name was Fenris, if I recall correctly, and he was quite the brooder.” Cullen added. 

Dorian shook his head sadly. 

“A slave to a man that would turn him into a weapon, most likely for the prestige of having a lyrium fighter, suffering the constant pain; I can well imagine he didn’t know how to be happy.”

“So, he and Hawke killed Danarius; what has that to do with this?” Cullen asked

“Maybe nothing? Danarius, the younger, focused on weapon research though.” Dorian said. “According to Sera, however, it’s unlikely he’s behind the attacks.”

“Her reasoning?” 

“His politics.” Dorian shrugged. “He himself hasn’t owned slaves since he broke from his father’s influence before the Fifth Blight. He also freed all of his father’s slaves upon notice of his death.” 

“Meaning?” 

“Meaning, he’s one of my and Felix’s supporters in the Magisterium.” Dorian answered.

“So he’d be unlikely to work against the woman who’s working with you.” Cullen agreed.  “The second name?”

“A little more promising, though harder to confirm.” Dorian placed a map of the Silent Plains on Cullen’s desk.

“An elf by the name of Maevaris,” Dorian began when he laid out the map. “has been working with miners somewhere in the Silent Plains.” He pointed to an area just north of the Nevarran border. 

“The money trail leads here.” He said. “We’re just not sure where ‘here’ is.” He admitted. Cullen hmm’d to show he was listening as he looked over the map.

“I gather she is a known weapons dealer?” Cullen asked and Dorian nodded in the affirmative.

“Sells to the highest bidder, or…” He drew out the last word, bringing Cullens eyes up to his.

“Or?” 

“Or perhaps to a person with an agenda she can get behind.”

Both men looked at the sheaf of papers that bore the names of assassins.

“You think one of them is actually behind this?” Cullen asked softly.

“I think it highly likely, and I have an inkling of a plan.”

“Do I need to approve it?” Cullen asked. Dorian shook his head before rising and pulling the rope for a squire. When the girl arrived, Dorian asked her to let Blackwall know that they’d like to see him. 

“Thank you.” He said as the youngling left.

“I think the Wardens would be best suited to this task, but we’ll see what our Warden Constable has to say.” Dorian opened the door a few moments later as Blackwall entered and nodded to them.

“Have a seat, old man.” Dorian said jovially. Blackwall looked at him with a mixture of humor and tolerance before sitting. 

“I take it this has to do with the attacks?” He asked, nodding in approval when he got a dual yes. “How can I help?” 

“I have information that the mage responsible for the weapons is likely in the Silent Plains.” Dorian told him. “I have an idea, but I’m not sure it will work.”

“Let’s hear it.” 

“Inquisition forces can’t move through Tevinter, not even the Plains.” Dorian said.

“Not right now, anyway.” Cullen said softly. “Alexius is still negotiating for that.”

“Just so.” Dorian agreed. “I was thinking, since this was the case, perhaps Wardens could go scouting for us.” Blackwall became thoughtful. 

“What would we get out of it?” He asked. “I’m more than willing to do what it takes to protect Wynnie as well as her people, but we Wardens need every edge we can get against the Darkspawn.” 

“I take it you have something in mind?” Cullen asked, Blackwall nodded.

“If this mage is responsible for the weapons that managed to slice through your magic; which I believe is what Varric was telling Sera and Bull, then we will want to know how they were made.”

“I’m not even going to ask how you knew that.” Cullen laughed.

“It is, however, true.” Dorian agreed. “I believe that is something we can agree to.” He looked to Cullen who nodded readily.

“My wife would have it no other way, I’m sure, as she is the Warden Commander.” 

“Then what is your plan, exactly?”

“A small force made up of thieves and mages, those used to moving silently and staying hidden.” Dorian leaned forward, his brown eyes glittering.

“I’m certain that within her stronghold will be the proof we need, as well as the information on  _ who _ is purchasing her weapons.” 

Blackwall nodded to show he understood, thinking once again before answering.

“It is a good plan.” He agreed. 

“Who would you send?” Cullen asked. Blackwall gave him a considering look before answering. 

“Wardens Howe, Gainer, Hawke, and Sharok.” He answered after several minutes had passed. “Howe and Gainer are both rogues to the core, though neither ever used their skills for actual thievery.” His grin showed he approved of the two. 

“Hawke is one of the best mages we have, almost as good as her cousin and Sharok can swing any type of blade as if he were born with it in his hand.” 

“Good to know.” Cullen said. 

“I’d ask the younger Alexius to meet them, help them find their way to this stronghold.” Blackwall suggested. “Having a Tevinter with them could only help.” 

“Dorian could go…” Cullen began but was interrupted by Dorian.

“Not really.” He stated. “Although I would have free reign as an Altus, I would be recognized as a member of the Inquisition.” He shrugged helplessly. 

“Felix Alexius travelling with the Wardens would actually make sense.” Blackwall added. “Since Wynnie gave him the cure many will assume he is now a Warden.” 

“Travelling with Wardens means he’s being trained, I see.” Cullen nodded. 

“When should they leave?” Dorian asked. “I would suggest tomorrow but you know them better than I.”

“We’ll go over the maps tonight, start preparations tomorrow.” Blackwall said, rising to take his leave. 

He bowed to the men before striding from the room. Dorian stared at the door, lost in thought, for a long moment.

“I never realized just how thoughtful he was.” Dorian said suddenly. Cullen laughed bitterly. “Why don’t you like the man?” Dorian asked. Cullen gave a hearty chuckle.

“Mostly my own ego.” He admitted. 

“Oooh, a story!” Dorian gave Cullen his most winning smile, to which Cullen snorted. 

“The Fifth Blight came and Bronwynn was sent to the front at Ostagar.” He shook his head at Dorian who seemed to want him to stop.

“Ask her how she felt about it, I was angry and insecure.” Dorian gave him an incredulous look. “No, I truly was. I was used to having her within arms reach, always.” He said. 

“How so?” Dorian asked, curiously.

“I’d been assigned to be her personal bodyguard.” Cullen answered. “I’m sure you can guess how strange that was here in Southern Thedas.” Dorian nodded.

“She’d been away for two months and when she returned she was with Blackwall, though I didn’t know his name then.” 

“So?” 

“I was insecure and jealous.” 

“Of  _ Blackwall _ ?” Dorian demanded. 

“Bronwynn didn’t like to be touched; still doesn’t, by those she doesn’t trust.” Cullen said. Dorian nodded his agreement. She often went out of her way to avoid being touched by people. 

“I was the only person she would allow to touch her. The day she returned I saw Blackwall place his hand on the small of her back to get her attention.” Dorian’s mouth opened in an ‘O’ of understanding.

“Quite an intimate gesture.” 

“Quite.” Cullen agreed. “I didn’t even wait to see what she did next, I simply went to our quarters to wait for her.” He sighed at the memory. 

“I accused her of being unfaithful and when she denied it I called her a liar. Gave her no quarter and refused to hear anything she said.” Shaking his head at his foolishness he finished his story.

“I went looking for a fight, and none of the other Templars were actually good enough to give me one when a dark haired Warden stepped into the circle. I made the same accusations and he too denied them.” Dorian’s eyes widened in shock.

“Still not listening, I taunted him until he taunted me back.” Cullen laughed at himself then. “He soundly thrashed me.” 

“Surely you’d lost a fight before?” 

“Not in many years, no.” Cullen said. “It wasn’t just that, however. It was what he said to make me lose my temper.”

“And that was?” 

“ _ If you’re giving her up, boy, I’ll gladly take her _ .” Silence reigned in the office for several moments while Dorian processed that statement. 

“Though, now I think on it, I suppose it was a good way to get me to lose control. If he hadn’t I’d probably be dead.” Dorian’s widened eyes brought a laugh from Cullen. 

“I was reckless, I’d allowed him to break an arm as well as several ribs.” 

“By the Maker, Cullen!” Dorian exclaimed. “Was she your first?” Cullen laughed lightly again.

“My first real love, aye.” Was his answer. “Not the first I’d shared a bed with, though.” 

Cullen seemed to lose himself in the memories for a time. Dorian rose to the bell once again.

“We could always have lunch in the dining hall, you know.” Cullen said with humour.

“It’s not time for dinner.” Dorian answered. 

“Then why call?” 

“Because I’m hungry.” 

Cullen shook his head but when the paige came in, he asked her to send coffee and cakes. 

Bronwynn entered the office before the youngling could leave and asked for tea to go with the order. The girl smiled widely up at Bronwynn and ran to put in the request.

“To what do we owe the pleasure, my wife?” Cullen asked her as she sat. She smiled so sweetly at his statement it brought a smile to both men’s faces as well.

“I don’t think I’m ever going to get tired of hearing that.” She told them, pride filling her voice.

“I’m never going to tire of saying it, so I hope not,” Cullen replied.

“Oh, please!” Dorian mockingly complained. “I cannot handle the sweetness!” They all broke into laughter for a short moment.

“Other than wishing to see my husband’s face, it seems the two of you may have need of my insight.” Both men frowned at her, not sure what she could mean. 

“Knowledge told me you were discussing the Circle?” She queried.

“In part, yes.” Cullen answered. “Dorian wished to know about Blackwall.” Bronwynn’s face screwed up in disgust.

“I thought you liked Blackwall?” Dorian said.

“I do, he’s a very good and loyal friend.” She nodded. “He helped me through a very rough time. He stood by me when he didn’t have to, kept me alive when it would have been easier to let me die.” She waved at Cullen.

“I just wish the two of them would stop with the constant bickering.” 

“We do not constantly bicker.” Cullen said defensively. 

“No, just everytime you’re in the same room.” Dorian offered, earning a narrow eyed glare from his friend. 

“Back to the subject at hand.” Cullen demanded.

“Well, there must have been something about the conversation you were having, because Knowledge insists I should be here for it.”

Dorian and Cullen both looked at her and then one another for several minutes.

“Wait, how about the conversation we had the other day?” Dorian asked hesitantly. When Cullen paled at the thought, Bronwynn knew it had been about the torture and though she was dying to know what had happened, she still wouldn’t push. What she did know was hard enough to bear.

“What about that discussion?” Cullen asked shakily. 

“I believe I asked something about one of the abominations in the tower.” Dorian answered.

“They were all killed, though.” 

“Wait,” Bronwynn held up a hand and frowned as she  _ listened _ .

“It isn’t about that conversation, or this one. It’s about the Circle, and the list.” Bronwynn sighed. “She gets so excited.”

“The list?” Dorian asked, confusion clear. “Cullen has already said he doesn’t recognize the names on the list.” To that Bronwynn chuckled.

“My dear husband wouldn’t have known all the mages in the Hold.” She said. “Partly because he was assigned to me personally but also because he was a Templar; they were taught not to get to close to us.” 

“I think he broke that rule.” Dorian said dryly.

“In a most spectacular way, too.” Bronwynn agreed readily and huskily. 

“One day, he’ll stop blushing when sex is mentioned or hinted at.” Dorian sighed. “I’ll be very sad when that happens.” 

“Moving on.” Cullen once again demanded. 

Bronwynn and Dorian smiled while he pulled the list from its stack and handed it to her. She looked carefully over the first page, taking a quill from Cullen then either placing a tick next to a name or scratching one off. Neither man spoke while she worked though they were quite curious.

“My heart?” Cullen asked when she handed him the first page. 

“The ones that I scratched off are dead; and I know because I killed them myself.” She said before he could ask her how she knew. “The ones with a single tick are people I don’t know and the double ticks are the mages I know from other Circles.” 

“These are supposed to be assassins.” Dorian told her.

“So, they can’t be mages?” She asked him sardonically. He opened his mouth to answer before closing it in thought.

“I didn’t think Southern mages would have the freedom to become assassins.” He ventured. She snorted in reply,

“Vivienne and I were not the exceptions to the rule, though our cases were quite extreme, true.” 

“Meaning?”

“Mages could leave the towers, in fact, many did.” Cullen said. “Some were even allowed to live outside the Circle, though they were heavily watched and could only live in cities and towns that had a Chantry with Templars.” 

“Those were the rarest of cases and were usually only allowed by Grand Clerics if the mage in question had performed some great service for the Chantry.” Bronwynn admitted. 

“But mages could leave their circles for extended periods of time so long as they were in good standing with their First Enchanter.” Cullen finished.

“Then what in the Maker’s name was the fighting about?” Dorian demanded.

“Though many Circles allowed mages these freedoms, they still had to deal with the Templars within the circles and without.” Bronwynn said. 

“Even as a Warden I could have caught hell from Templars for being out without a Templar to ‘protect’ me.” She went on. “Thankfully, most folks don’t know a mage if said mage isn’t carrying a staff and wearing robes.” 

“There was also the abuse mages had to deal with from the Templars that was often not addressed by either the Knight-Commanders or the First Enchanters.” Cullen added.

“Of course, the Chantry insisting on putting mages through the Harrowing meant that many Templars only saw mages in a bad light. Not being allowed to get to know one another assured distrust on both sides.” 

“There has to be a better way.” Dorian said, shivering at the memory of his own harrowing.

“Vivienne and I think there may be.” She said. “Something Solas and you said while we were in Mythal’s Temple.” HIs eyes widened and then he shook his head.

“Let us finish this before we go on about anything else!” Bronwynn chuckled lightly and bent her head back to the pages. 

Thirty minutes, three cups of tea, and four slices of lemon cake later, she finished her perusal.

“I hadn’t thought to see that name again.” Bronwynn said, staring at the final page in shock.

“Who’s?” Cullen asked.

“Marielle Darroch.” She looked up and shook her head when Cullen gave her a blank look. 

“I had the flu, it was the only Harrowing you had that month.” She reminded him. He thought for a moment and then went  _ oh _ .

“Very small girl, blond hair, so utterly terrified I thought for sure she would give in.” His eyes refocused on Bronwynn with curiosity. “Why would her name be on that list?” He asked. “She moved to Cumberland.” Bronwynn nodded.

“Just before the Circle fell, I understand.” He nodded. “She hated me with a passion.” Bronwynn told him. 

“Why?” He asked, unsurprised one of the Circle mages hated her, it was a common thing, sadly.

“Because of you.” HIs eyes widened in shock, the look mirrored by Dorian.

“What?” They both demanded. 

“‘Struth!” She exclaimed. “A year younger than me, she thought she deserved the exact same treatment from Greagoir and Irving that I got, though she hadn’t suffered nearly the same.” 

“Meaning?” Dorian interjected.

“Bron was tortured and brutalized by many of the mages and Templars in the Hold until I got there.” There was still anger in his voice when he thought about how she had been treated.

“And you brokered a  _ peace _ with the Order?” Dorian demanded. 

“The fighting was futile and pointless.” Bronwynn said. “If the mages had actually been trained to fight, the Templars would have stood no chance but as it stood, the mages were simply moving targets.” The disgust in her voice made her thoughts clear on the matter. 

“Why would she think she deserved her own bodyguard?” Cullen asked and now Bronwynn laughed cruelly. 

“She didn’t want just  _ any _ bodyguard, vehenan. She wanted  _ you _ .” 

Cullen’s look was quizzical.

“She believed she was my equal in everything but looks. There she thought she had me beat.” 

“If I remember rightly, she was flat-chested and had buck teeth.” Cullen said with disdain and Bronwynn chuckled. 

“Not buck teeth, but flat-chested, yes.” She replied. Cullen frowned as he tried to remember.

“She must have always been biting her lip when she spoke to me then.” He said.

“I have no idea why she would have moved to Cumberland, but I can well imagine her becoming an assassin.” Bronwynn said sadly.

“Didn’t her family have money?” He asked. “I thought I heard she came from one of the larger merchant families.”

“‘Tis possible. She came into her magic late so it’s entirely possible they didn’t disown her.” 

“You still had your title.” Dorian pointed out. 

“It was honorary.” Bronwynn said. Dorian snorted his disbelief.

“Do you think we should check her out?” Cullen asked doubtfully.

After a moment’s thought, she nodded. 

“She may not actually be an assassin.” Bronwynn admitted. “Better to be safe than not.” 

* * *

Sitting at one of the smaller tables in the corner, farthest away from Sera’s room, on the second floor of the Rest; the assassin nursed the piss the bartender called the house brew. She cursed her luck. Three months now and she’d been unable to leave the damn Keep. 

Worse, she’d missed her target. Having only been told she was to kill the Arcanist, a red haired dwarf she’d find leaving the Undercroft, which meant she killed the wrong woman. She took another swig of the  _ beer _ then slammed the mug down. She didn’t see the barmaid coming up the stairs or glancing at her. The Crow’s brows drew together, furrows between her eyes. She didn’t like getting partial information and the description of the Arcanist hadn’t been enough to ensure she did her job. 

_I doubt I’ll be as lucky as The Hero of Ferelden’s blasted elf._ _Be lucky if they don’t send in someone to do both me and the dwarf_. _My only mistake, not even my mentor can say that. Probably won’t matter. I don’t have his clout._

At this point, they still don’t  know for sure that she failed, but it won’t be long before they do. 

_ Meanwhile I take this opportunity to finish my mission.  _ She looked down, into the clay mug.  _ I do that and they won’t kill me. _ One more swallow of this… beverage and she could begin preparations to kill the proper woman. 

“Would you like summat to eat, dearie?” The servant asked, having arrived at the table during the woman’s introspection. “You look like you ain’t eaten in a few days. Captain Harding must’ve had you on a long mission.” The barmaid sounded quite friendly, not the least bit suspicious. 

“Actually, I  _ am _ rather hungry.” She admitted after allowing herself time to think, sounding surprised. Meg noted the Nevarran accent. She knew there were only four people within the Keep that were from Nevarra; Seeker Pentaghast, Louden Pentaghast, the mage Torrence, and his sister Maedchen; this young woman obviously wasn’t one of them.

“Okay then.” Meg said with a smile. “We have beef or venison stew, as well as steak and potatoes?” 

“Umm, the beef stew sounds good.” She replied. Meg nodded and headed down to the kitchen. She found Varric there, attempting to filch a bowl of his favorite nuts. 

“Master Varric,” the woman said softly. “I have just met the most interesting woman.” His blue-green eyes widened in response. “She speaks with a Nevarran accent.” 

“Really?” He asked with interest; if Meg was commenting on it she was someone Meg didn’t know. If Meg didn’t know her, she was likely the assassin they’d been looking so hard for. Meg gave a slight curtsey before grabbing a bowl and filling it with Cabot’s beef stew. She put the bowl on a plate with bread and honey then went back upstairs.

Varric hummed softly to himself while he thought about his best course of action. He leaned against a post near the door while he thought and his eye caught on the sight of a pages uniform.

“Charles.” He said softly as the boy was leaving the tavern. “Would you mind telling Commander Cullen I may have found our Crow?”

Varric was proud of the youngling when he merely gasped softly at the news. He then nodded eagerly and darted out the door. 

Varric meandered to the second floor, making his way to a table and pulling out a deck of cards. Meg was making small talk with a woman he’d never seen. She looked small, like a typical elf. Her hair was a deep black with dark brown eyes. Varric started dealing out two hands of cards, talking to himself just loudly enough to catch their attention. 

“Master Tethras, you’re doing it again.” The blond barmaid called out laughingly. He looked up at her with a frown, looking rather fierce.

“If I had  _ someone _ to play with, I wouldn’t  _ have _ to talk the dialogue out.” He grumped. 

“Ser Cremisius has said he’s willing to help you with your dialogue.” Meg said as she walked over to his table. The Crow focused on her bowl of stew; which was surprisingly good, and listened to the banter between them. 

“If the man had a romantic bone in his body, I’d take him up on it!” Varric said, drawing a laugh from Meg. Their argument was friendly and quite light as well as humorous, bringing an unnoticed smile to her lips. 

She, like many people throughout Thedas, had read The Tale of the Champion as well as Hard in Hightown; but she thought the author would be aloof or snobbish. Instead, he sat in the tavern and made jokes with a barmaid. It was as confusing to her as the Qunari mercenary Captain’s actions.

“I can imagine Seeker Pentaghast wouldn’t like that at all.” Meg said, walking back to where the woman sat. 

“Finished dearie?” She asked. “Would you like another?” The assassin hesitated and Varric interrupted.

“Oh, grab her another and get her a pint of the good stuff.” Meg sighed but nodded. 

“You might as well join him.” Meg told the woman. “He’ll just annoy you with his banter until you do.” 

“She’s right!” Varric agreed jovially.

The woman looked at him warily but decided to join him. 

“Varric Tethras, at your service.” He said with a seated bow. She grinned at the action.

“Ginnis.” She replied, returning the bow. 

“You must be new to the Keep.” Varric said as he dealt out a hand. She merely nodded. “Going to be hard to work out a conversation for my book if you don’t speak.” He pointed out.

“Is your conversation supposed to be with the new girl?” Ginnis asked smartly.

“Actually, in a way, yes.” Varric answered, quite seriously. Ginnis gave a soft chuckle.

“Then yes, I am new to the Keep.” 

“Dealer starts the bidding and I’ll go with a copper.” He said, throwing a copper piece between the two of them. “You must be a pilgrim.” 

Ginnis looked at her hand before answering. 

“Raise you a copper and why do you say that?” 

Grinning, Varric dropped a copper in the pot and dealt two more cards. 

“If you were one of  _ her  _ soldiers or agents you’d be in uniform.” He knocked on the table to pass the bet. 

He looked her over carefully while waiting for her to decide what she should do or say next. He lifted his chin in greeting to Cullen and Harding when they came up the stairs. She didn’t see either of them or as her back was to the stairs.

“I’ll go for a silver.” She said, dropping what was clearly her only silver coin into the pot. 

“Well, I could keep bluffing,” Varric said softly. “But I think I’ll show my hand.” He folded his cards and grinned at her when she lifted wary green eyes to look at him. Harding slid to her right, blocking her exit up as well as showing herself to the assassin.

“You really did rush into this job, didn’t you?” Varric asked, sounding slightly confused. “Most Crows would have at least come up with a backstory, in case they needed one.” Ginnis sighed and laid her hand down, face up.

“I’d have one that hand, too.” She said. 

“I hope you don’t mind that I called for company?” Varric asked, glancing behind her at Cullen with raised brows. Cole shimmered into visibility to search the woman for weapons. 

“You have a choice, Ginnis.” Cullen said when Cole had removed them all. “You can keep your freedom and answer our questions, truthfully.” He moved so his back was to the window, placing himself both in her view and in the way of that exit as Cole was now behind her.

“Or you can spend time under the mages tower with The Iron Bull.” He said and the disgust in his voice assured her that wasn’t a choice she wanted to make.

“Not really a choice, then.” She stated. 

“You  _ could _ get out of this alive.” Varric said, to which the Crow snorted laughter. 

“I killed two of your people.” 

“You were doing your job.” Cullen answered; and though his voice carried anger, there was no blame. 

“I doubt your Inquisitor will be as forgiving.” She said softly. The man in front of her merely smiled at her. 

The young man who’d searched her sat beside her, drawing her attention. Time seemed to stand still while she looked at him and somehow, she found her peace with turning against the Crows.

“Keep the Crows from killing me, serra, and I'll answer any questions I can.” 

“I’ll talk to Bull.” Varric said to Cullen before rising and leaving the floor. Cole, Harding, and Cullen led Ginnis up and through battlement door to Cullen’s office. 

* * *

Cullen sat behind his sturdy oak desk rubbing his face. Varric was in the office with him after finding Bull in the upper Yard. Ginnis sat across from him and he’d ordered her untied. So far she’d answered all his questions and as far as he could tell she was being honest. What Ginnis had been able to tell him confirmed what Xenon’s report suggested. She insisted, however, that she’d been hired to kill Dagna, not the Inquisitor.

“Ginnis, do you have any idea why your client would want the Arcanist dead?” Varric asked, Cullen locked his eyes onto the Dwarf’s with ire. Varric shrugged.

“That’s been the boggle in my head, Curly.” He admitted before looking at the dark haired woman again. “So, any clue?” She frowned, as if in thought. 

“You see,” Varric went on, moving so he was standing with his back to Cullen. “If this were one of my books, there would be this intricate plot.” He grinned as if getting into the tale.

“There would be assassins hired to take out key members of the Inquisition in an effort to isolate the Inquisitor.” He leaned forward. “Like Dagna.” He said, his voice trailing off, leading her to answer.

“The Arcanist is responsible for the magicked weapons the Inquisition uses.” Ginnis said. “If she’s out of the picture, then the Inquisition is weakened.” At this Cullen snorted. Ginnis turned her brown eyes to him.

“Harrit and Dagna only make weapons for the Inquisitor and her Inner Circle.” Cullen said. “We have two other smiths making mundane armor and weapons for the Inquisition forces, Wardens, Mages, and Templars.” Ginnis let out a deep sigh before responding.

“That isn’t actually known.” She told him. “I was told to kill the Arcanist. The red haired Dwarven woman in the Keep. I was told that she lived in the Undercroft so to keep watch for her coming from there. I was to take out this Dagna because she was the one responsible for the enchantment of the gear.” She lifted her palms in supplication. 

“I was unable to perform my duty so now I’m a walking dead woman.” She looked down at the stone floor for a very long moment before taking a deep breath to speak again. 

“I think I wanted to fail.” She admitted. 

“Why would you want to fail the Crows?” Varric asked. “That’s a guaranteed death sentence.”

“Zevran Arainai proved otherwise.” She said wearily. “And in truth, I am tired of killing for men and women who only want death to further their own ends. If I must kill, let me do so for a better cause.” 

Varric and Cullen blinked at her for a long moment before they both started laughing. 

“At least you say a ‘better cause’ not a ‘good one’.” Cullen said while laughing. She rolled her eyes but shrugged. 

“If it requires people to die in secret, it can’t be a truly  _ good _ cause, now can it?” She sneered. Cullen smiled even wider at her. 

“My wife despises unnecessary fighting.” He told her. “She  _ always _ has. She will search for the peaceful solution first.” He shook his head before continuing. 

“When she became a Warden, she learned that expediency is sometimes the most peaceful of solutions.” 

“I’ve seen her with the refugees. I’ve seen how she treats even the proven blood mages within your group!” Ginnis protested. “Her compassion is unfailing!” Now Varric barked a laugh.

“Oh yes, quite compassionate she is. Right up until she steals their ability to do magic.” Varric shook his head. “Ginnis, she can be cruel. She’s not Andraste.” 

The woman frowned, fear beginning to twist her face, her brown eyes downcast.

“I...I had hoped…” They heard her swallow a sob.

“Listen, Little Bird,” Varric said kindly. “She is the reason you’re here, unbound and answering questions of your own free will, and not being tortured.” 

“That doesn’t mean there aren’t going to be repercussions.” Cullen said, his voice hard, if not cruel.

“We aren’t always given the reasons behind our jobs.” She said and both men nodded. 

“That’s why we want to know what you _do_ know.” Cullen said. “Let us start with this list of assassins. Who do you know, and can you tell us who may have hired them?”  

* * *

 

“The Inquisition held the Dwarven funeral?” He asked. 

The answer came from from the shadows behind him and he smiled to hear what he thought was fear. The elf was his personal plaything, as well as an agent he’d stolen from the Empress. 

“Yes, M'Lord.” 

“And the other players, what are they planning?” 

“The Marquise sends agents to kill the elven archer.” She answered. “The Tevinter sends a mage to kill the Grand Enchanter.” 

Her keeper laughed at the thought and she sneered at his idiocy. His plans were no better and far less likely to succeed. 

She schooled her features to blankness when he rose from his chair facing the fireplace. The Empress was in the Summer Palace now, so he used her rooms in the Winter Palace. The servants would say nothing unless asked; and no one ever asked. 

Untying his robes, he strode to the bed, motioning for her to join him. He didn’t pick up the whip, merely shoved her onto the bed, spread her legs and forced himself inside her. He finished quickly and moved to clean himself before ordering her to send the remaining Crows to kill the Inquisition Commander, Cullen.

“I’ll have her, yet.” He told her. “It will be my name she screams in the night, Syla.” 

The elf had stood when he cleaned himself, readying herself to issue his commands, when he picked up the whip.

“Until then, you’ll do it tonight.” 

Syla knew better than to run, he had guards outside that would happily punish her while he watched if she did that. The bite of the first lash was muted by her uniform, as was the second and third. 

“Come here, bitch.” He ordered. She walked to him, head low. He took his knife and cut the uniform from her before tying her between the posts of the bed. He changed the whip out for a cat o'nine made of cloth and began slashing her across the breasts with it. Though they left no raised welts, it still caused pain and she whimpered. 

She willed her nipples to harden, knowing what he expected, while pulling her chest backward. He laughed menacingly and struck her again, bringing another moan from her throat. She gave him a few tears and whimpered ‘please, no’ after three more strikes.

She knew she’d acted well when he dropped the cat and untied her hands. Forcing her to her knees he began fucking her mouth. She was fairly sure he wouldn’t be able to do more this night and was grateful. 

When the bedroom door opened she paled. 

“Ah, good. I was afraid you were going to be late.” The purring of his voice was a sound she hadn’t heard before. Whomever had entered the room was someone he thought he was better than. He kept pumping his dick in and out of her mouth while the other man spoke.

“Is this what you are offering?” The Orlesian was refined, unlike her keepers. Not that it would matter to her in the end, but it was always good to know. 

“She is better trained than any other elven whore in this palace.” He reached down, pulling himself from her mouth and forced her head up so the newcomer could see her face. A lifetime of practice kept her from showing any sign of recognition but she knew this man. Comte du Canard and though he was poor, he was of significantly higher rank than the Chevalier that was her keeper.

“Show me, Renfield.” The Comte said, his eyes hungrily devouring her bare body. Renfield grinned and thrust his dick in her mouth once again. Holding her head between his hands, he forced her to crawl on her knees; while still in her mouth, he stepped back to the stool before the vanity to sit. Now she was bent over, her ass facing the Comte.

“Enjoy yourself, mon ami.” He said, handing the man another whip.

Syla closed her eyes and forced herself to stay relaxed when the Comte began to whip her. She knew her keeper wanted her to struggle, knew he would enjoy it if she begged them to stop; and also knew it would likely gain him what he was trying to get from the Comte. 

Instead she gave pleasured moans, humming along Renfield’s cock and moving her left hand between her legs to play with herself. As much as she hated having the other human inside her it had the desired effect so he dropped the whip and began fucking her pussy.

Syla hollowed her cheeks and inhaled deeply on Renfield’s dick, swallowing him deeply the way he liked. Still humming, she used her hand to fondle the balls of the Comte. He began to thrust harder, she was surprised into grunting from how deep he went; he was much larger than the Chevalier in her mouth. 

Syla sped the bobbing of her head on Renfield, matching the speed with the thrusts of the Comte. She began to squeeze the inner muscles of her pussy to the rhythm of his thrusts as well, bringing both men to climax quickly. 

She allowed herself to collapse with shudders and mewls of pleasure when they let her go. 

“Well, Ser Renfield.” du Canard began, his voice heavy with satiation. “You are correct.” He reached down and caressed her thigh. “She is definitely a whore.”

“As are all female elves.” Renfield said, his own voice thick with satisfaction. 

“Send her to my quarters.” du Canard said, rising to his feet. “I’ll decide if she’s worth it after I’ve played with her a little more.” 

“Of course.” Once again, her keeper’s voice had taken on the purring sound, he thought he had the Comte where he wanted him. “Once she’s cleaned herself up.” 

The Comte waved one hand in dismissal and left the room. She waited for Renfield to order her up and when he didn’t after a few moments she began to be afraid. She miscalculated.

“Remy! Charles!” Renfield called out after five minutes had passed. The two guards came in quickly. When they saw her lying on the floor they began to undress, knowing she was theirs until their master said they were done.

* * *

 

Marielle Darroch shook her head in disgust at the actions her pawns were taking. She was tired of working around their individual plans. She’d  _ told _ them the plan was to kill the  _ Inquisitor _ . By taking out certain people around her she’d be forced to leave Skyhold and face her. 

_ Instead, _ their actions had caused her to go to ground inside the Keep. 

Marielle screamed in frustration. Ever since Kinloch Hold she’d had to deal with Amell’s superior attitude.

_ First, Irving takes her under his wing instead of me.  _ She thought to herself.  _ As if she deserved that kind of treatment! Then Greagoir brings in a Templar to be her personal bodyguard! _

Again, Marielle screamed her frustration. Her servants made sure they were out of her view at this point. 

“Then the Templar doesn’t even notice me flirting with him!” She shouted. “He actually believed the skinny cunt was prettier than me! ME!” She threw a rounded ball of dawnstone against the wall, shattering the object. 

The sound brought her to her senses, briefly. 

_ He actually married her. _ Marielle turned her attention to the view out her window, a view of the Frostback mountains.  _ I will make him suffer for that. He will be thankful for my mercy when I’m done.  _

“He  _ will _ love me.” 

The blond woman whipped around quickly and left her room, searching for the Templar she had enthralled. She couldn’t punish Cullen yet, but she could make  _ this one  _ suffer.


	5. Third Act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things begin to come together.

 

            “I want to know, my heart, what in the world you did to have the Antiquarian decide he didn’t want you to die.” Cullen asked his wife that night as they readied for bed. She laughed at the question.

            “I spend loads of money at his shop.” She answered flippantly.

            “I doubt that is all.” He groused good-naturedly, she really did spend a lot of money in the Black Emporium, though.

            “It could have been the potions I gave to the Urchin.” She said with a shrug as she crawled into their over large bed. “The ones that they can pour onto his skin once a day.”

            “Is he really mummified?”

            “Yes, he really is. He really should have read the fine print on that contract.” She said with a laugh. Though she was happy to avail herself of his shop’s wares, the Inquisitor had no pity for the ancient creature that owned it. He deserved his fate for wanting eternal life.

            “Was it blood magic?” Cullen asked and his red-haired wife chuckled wickedly.

            “Technically, yes.” She answered. “However, he is not a mage; he paid a mage to do it and since the blood she used was _his_ and it wasn’t meant to harm, it was considered sympathetic magic or hedge wizardry.” She curled into her husband’s left side when he stretched out under the covers next to her.

“Is there a significant difference?” He asked. She shrugged before she answered.

“I have always looked at it like this, if the person using blood magic isn’t corrupted by the use then it’s not worth getting bent out of shape over.” He pulled her closer to him. “After all, the most effective form of healing open wounds is coaxing the person’s own blood back into their bodies.” His nose wrinkled at the image that conjured in his mind.

“You’ve done that?” He asked.

“That is basically what a healing potion does.” She yawned.

“Bronwynn.” He said after another moment.

“Yes, Vhenan?” She answered sleepily.

“Where are we going to put the nursery?” She chuckled but didn’t answer, having fallen asleep on the laugh.  

* * *

 

Cullen rang for a servant when the clock struck twelve. He and Dorian had once again been working for several hours without eating. The servant appeared at the door more quickly than Cullen had thought would happen, though his expression didn’t give the thought away. He asked for food and drink to be brought up.

He was deep in thought about the question he’d asked his wife the night before when Dorian startled him by speaking.

“Oh!” Dorian said, sitting up a little straighter. “Do my eyes deceive me or is our Inquisitor pregnant?” Cullen gave his friend a confused look, not sure where the question came from. The two had decided to wait until she returned from Nevarra before telling her Circle. She counted herself lucky that she suffered only minor illness during the day for the first weeks.

“What is that supposed to mean?” He asked suspiciously. “You know women don’t like to hear you think they’re getting fat.”

“Not Wynnie.” The handsome mage scoffed. “She’s far to self-assured to worry about what others may think of her. She’s putting on weight, however but only across the middle.” The mage said matter of factly. “Also, I heard her complaining about the binding’s she uses to hold her breasts in place.” Cullen started laughing at that point.

“Maker, she truly hates binding her breasts.” He covered his eyes as he laughed. “Yes, she is pregnant.” He admitted, giving his friend a grin full of pride, love, and joy. Dorian leapt up, to take Cullen’s hand in his and pump it enthusiastically.

“Congratulations, old boy!” He said, clearly happy for his friends. “I’m guessing a late winter birth?” Cullen nodded.

“I know you’re going to want to tell Iron Bull, but please, don’t.” He asked. “There are still the rifts in Nevarra and Rivain,” he went on to explain. “As much as it kills me, she needs to be able to at least get to the ones in Nevarra before her movements are restricted.”

“Ah, yes. Not to mention, she’s a mage and her being pregnant just might cause problems with the public.” Dorian nodded. “I’ll keep mum. Though,” he leaned forward with a glint in his eye. “I’ll wager twenty Royals that Bull asks you about it before they leave for Nevarra at the end of the week.” Cullen grinned back at him with the same mischievousness.

“Fifty that he asks Bron himself.” Cullen countered. Laughing, the two shook on it then they went on to discuss children in general as they waited for the food to arrive.

* * *

 

            “Ha!” Cullen said to Dorian two days later when they met to spar. “You owe me fifty Sovereign.” Dorian sighed dramatically and handed the blond man a bag.

            “He told me he was going to talk to her this morning about their travelling arrangements.” Cullen laughed heartily for long enough that Dorian started their morning spar with a levin bolt to his chest. That stopped his sexy friend from laughing but also put Dorian on the defensive for the rest of the sparring session.

            The rest of the morning was spent in preparation of the Inquisitor and her Circle heading to Nevarra. Cullen and Dorian oversaw the camp supplies while Varric and Sera coordinated the scouting parties with Captain Harding. Varric could be heard complaining about the number of horses while Sera groused that she wasn’t going along.

Both the Upper and Lower yards were loud with the day to day business normally and this day it was louder than usual. It was a testament to their training that the Inquisition soldiers on the walls turned as one and loosed a dozen arrows at the stairs leading into the keep when they heard Solas shouting for the guards while throwing out an ice spell. Only three of the arrows struck their target but none of guards hit anyone else in the Keep.

“Hold!” Bronwynn commanded into the sudden shocked silence. She stood behind the Elvhenan mage, both panting and covered in blood. Before them, encased in ice stood a jester with drawn daggers.

“What in the abyss is going on?” Iron Bull demanded as he reached the top of the stairs seconds before Dorian and Cullen.

“Bronwynn!” Her husband’s voice rumbled with concern. She shook her head, letting her breath even out before answering.

“It's not mine.” She said, though it wasn’t very reassuring.

“Helisma has been killed.” Solas said, his normally even voice filled with wrath. He hadn’t necessarily liked the Tranquil researcher, but she hadn’t deserved what this assassin had done to her.

Vivienne stepped forward from the crowd behind the Inquisitor and the elf, also covered in blood. The new Grand Enchanter’s regal features normally kept under rigid control were now twisted into fierce anger. Her face going from chocolate to ebony with her rage.

“Inquisitor, darling.” She said and the resonance of her voice echoed through the Great Hall as well as across the grounds below. “Allow me to interrogate the creature.”

Iron Bull started laughing and stepped forward to bind the jester as Solas removed the spell.

“Mercy, Inquisitor! Mercy!” Clearly a man’s voice, he sounded quite terrified. “I beg of you!”

“You killed one of my people,” Bronwynn answered with a hardness that few heard from the woman. “You killed a _Tranquil_!” She took one step closer to the assassin. “She had no defense against you and after what you did…” Her emerald green eyes had hardened to tourmaline. The man swallowed and shivered.

“If you wish to live through it,” Vivienne told him, stepping beside the Inquisitor. Her own normally whiskey colored eyes having darkened into obsidian. “I suggest you tell the truth.”

Bull’s laughter had died to chuckles when he led the man away.

“I should warn you, Markham,” Bull said as he marched the assassin down the stairs. The man stumbled when Bull named him. “That ever since becoming Grand Enchanter, Madame De Fer has become exceedingly protective of her Tranquil charges.”

It was only Iron Bull’s grasp on his arm that kept him from collapsing.

* * *

 

            Three hours passed, and the Keep was still reeling from the unexpected attack. Bronwynn’s Inner Circle and Advisors worked together to keep people calm and business moving. Josephine and Cullen agreed it would be better to postpone her trip to Nevarra.

            Elena stood guard at the door to Bronwynn’s quarters to keep her lady from being bombarded with those who thought they needed her comfort. She was polite but firm with those that tried.

            The elf sighed in relief when Cullen came from the Ambassador’s office, even if the Ambassador and Spymaster were with him. She gave a shallow bow as they entered, Cullen hanging back until the other two were one landing above them.

            “How is she doing?” He asked.

            “The babe has her more emotional than normal, but she is physically well.” Elena frowned up at the two advisors as they waited on Cullen. “She’s worried her tears will upset the others.” Cullen sighed as he followed her gaze.

            “I need you to make everyone understand without telling them about the baby.” Elena nodded and bowed once more before leaving her post.

            “She’s going to argue about postponing the trip.” Bull growled when Cullen joined them. He started up the next flight before responding.

            “No.” Cullen said so matter-of-factly it startled the other two. “She won’t because we’re going to stand together on this.” He gave the Qunari a look that assured his cooperation.

“We cannot have her that far away from our protection.” Josephine said vehemently. “Even if she thinks she does not need it.” Both Cullen and Bull chuckled dryly at the statement.

“Besides, she isn’t being cautious enough with her travel arrangements in her condition.” Cullen paused before opening the door to look at the Ambassador.

“Does everyone already know?” He asked incredulously. The Antivan glowered at him.

“Of course, Commander.” She answered haughtily, bringing laughter from the spymaster. Cullen took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before entering the room.

The three reached the top of the final flight of stairs, Cullen in the lead. He was grateful Bull was behind him to shore him up when his wife threw herself into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably. He lifted her into his arms and moved to one of the chairs to sit with her.

“Three attacks on my people.” The mage said somberly when her tears subsided. “I want to know why, I want to know who, and I want them dead.” Cullen ran his fingers through her auburn locks, smoothing out the tangles as well as soothing her temper.

“We have intel that it’s to weaken you.” Cullen told her.

“Killing my people doesn’t weaken me.” She snarled with her head still on his chest. “It merely angers me.”

“But it does, Inquisitor.” Josephine advised carefully. Her friend’s eyes were sea green in her grief. “Should the deaths continue, we could lose people. If our people lose faith in you…” She trailed off as Bronwynn’s eyes closed in understanding.

“To better protect our people, as well as you, we’ve postponed your trip to Nevarra.” Cullen felt her tensing up for an argument.

“Don’t bother arguing, Boss.” Bull said before she could even open her mouth. “We have already sent word to the scouts and to King Marcus.” The woman narrowed her eyes at the Qunari and opened her mouth to speak when Josephine interjected.

“In your current condition you shouldn’t be travelling on horseback anyway. Two months, Bronwynn. Give your council two months, either way you can go to Nevarra then.” Bronwynn snapped her mouth closed and turned accusing eyes on her husband.

“I have told only Dorian and that was after he asked me.” He said quickly in defense.

“Give over, Boss.” Bull said with a laugh. “You are under such scrutiny every day all day, did you _really_ think no one would notice the changes?”

Bronwynn laid her head back onto her husband’s chest, sticking her tongue out at Iron Bull, childlike. The others laughed at her antics but were secretly relieved she didn’t fight them.

“What do you need from me?” She asked tiredly when their laughter died down.

“To help Josephine.” Cullen answered. “You will need to …” His voice trailed off as he thought of the proper wording.

“We must focus all eyes on you, Inquisitor.” Josephine said matter-of-factly. “This means playing the Game more directly.” Bronwynn groaned and shook her head.

“While I am performing for the nobles, what will you be doing?” Bronwynn asked.

“Nathaniel, Bethany, and two other Wardens are going to meet Felix Alexius in Tevinter to hopefully find the person who made the weapons that nearly killed Dorian.” Cullen told her.

“Sera, Varric, and I will be working through the list of assassins and spies we have to find their benefactors.” Bull sighed softly, wearily. “Sera’s _friends_ have confirmed much of what Ginnis told us and Varric managed to get enough from Dirthara to confirm that Marquise Bouffon is at least two levels below whomever is behind the whole scheme.”

She snorted laughter and shook her head.

“Leave it to Varric.” She said, then yawned. Iron Bull and Josephine rose and bowed to her before leaving the couple in peace.

“Sleep, my heart.” Cullen whispered after a few moments.

“I suppose Josephine is going to want to throw a party for the baby now.” She said, clearly sleepy but not wanting to leave his lap.

“I imagine she’ll wait until _he’s_ born.” Cullen said with suppressed laughter.

“Well, mayhap I should let her throw one before _she’s_ born.” Bronwynn said with a grin. “ _She’s_ going to need a lot of clothes.” Cullen chuckled.

“Perhaps one of each?” He teased, which had her sit up to face him with arms akimbo and a smile on her face.

“Be careful Vhenan. I can still freeze you.” He reached out and wrapped his arms around her waist; pulling her to him so he could kiss her abdomen.

“Then you’d have no one to keep you warm at night.” He grinned after releasing her. Her sleepy laughter echoed through the room as he lifted her and carried her to their bed.

“ _Sleep_.” He commanded his mage, his wife, his heart, his life.

* * *

 

            Two weeks passed slowly for the team as they sifted through the information they received almost daily. Though they made headway, the normally active group found themselves bickering over small things they would usually ignore while at the Keep.

            “Come on, Curly!” Varric was saying to Cullen as they entered the Great Hall from the yards. “It’ll get some of the vinegar out of everyone.” His tone was cajoling and baiting at the same time.

            “I swore not to play again.” Cullen said, sounding as if he were weary of the conversation.

            “Think of the chance to get all Ruffle's money!” Varric exclaimed, booming laughter and smacking the taller man on the back. “Come on!” The Dwarf was back to cajoling.

            Iron Bull and Dorian arrived in the Great Hall just in time to hear Varric practically beg the Commander to join in the game of Wicked Grace. He was putting it together to get everyone’s mind off the inactivity and stress that the investigation was putting on them on so many levels.

            “I am not putting myself through that embarrassment again,” he insisted, though his voice sounded extremely weak, as if he were giving in.

            “Aw, come on Cullen!” Bull exclaimed. “I remember you winning at least three hundred sovereigns off me last game.”

Cullen gave the Qunari a sardonic glare.

            “Well, I’d love to see him racing across the ‘yard without his clothes.” Dorian crowed, drawing snickers from said Commander’s friends. Cullen’s lips twisted into a grimace when he turned his glare onto the mage. Before he could retort, however, Blackwall spoke up from behind him.

            “I think...” The dark-haired man with the booming voice announced. “That is a terrific idea.”

When Cullen turned to see who had spoken, he let out a low growl. Blackwall was standing inside the main doors and behind him were Solas and Vivienne.  

            “As we didn’t join in the last game,” Vivienne intoned in her rich noble voice. “Solas and I have decided we will teach you _how_ to play Wicked Grace.”

            Cullen’s eyes widened in shock at the sight of Solas grinning with mischief.

            “Sera has said she swears not to drink herself to sleep this time.” Josephine said from his right. He laid his head back and looked to the ceiling, his shoulders drooping when he heard her voice.

            “Bronwynn, was this your plan when you woke up this morning?” He asked sounding weary and suspicious. Yet when he looked to where he knew his wife would be standing, he was smiling ruefully. She grinned back at him highly amused.

            “Actually, Commander Rutherford,” She replied. “I was planning on an entirely different type of distraction for my people.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head before throwing his arms up in defeat.

            “Very well!” He nearly shouted in mock anger. “I’ll play…” He looked at Josephine with menace. “I’ll get revenge.”

The Antivan Ambassador smiled beatifically at the blond Commander with a glint of mischievousness in her eye.

“You’re on Commander.” She said with a smile.

It didn’t take long for the team to make their way to the Herald’s Rest. Varric had already gotten a table set up for them on the second floor with plenty of food and drink, as well as the cards. Meg and the other barmaids made sure to keep the rest of the patrons away from the group trying to relax.

“Ruffles! We’re letting the Inquisitor deal this game.” Varric said with a laugh as the Ambassador reached for the deck. The woman laughingly acquiesced and handed the deck to the redhead.

“Okay, Bull you cut!” Bronwynn called after shuffling the deck. She checked her pile of coins and tossed two silvers into the pot.

“Go big or go home!” She baited with a laugh. Not one person failed to ante up. She dealt out five cards to each and the game began.

It took four hands for the group to comment on Cullen’s new-found skill and another six before they realized he hadn’t just gotten slightly better.

“Josie, you may actually want to watch out.” Dorian said when he had to fold what he’d thought was a good hand, four Knights with three Songs. Bull dropped out the round before along with Blackwall and Cassandra. It was now down to Sera, Cullen, and Josephine.

“I am not sure what you mean, Dorian.” She replied sweetly. “I’ll see your five Royals and raise you another five.” She tossed ten gold coins into the pot and Sera scoffed.

“Too rich for me!” she cried, folding her hand. Bronwynn laughed at the way the blonde elf twisted her face in disgust.

“One of them is bluffin’” Blackwall insisted, slightly inebriated.

“Cullen, most like.” Dorian said by way of agreement.

“Somehow,” Vivienne said thoughtfully. “I doubt that.” Solas grunted his agreement with his counterpart.

“Curly has either gotten rid of his tells or learned to hide them better.” Varric said, sounding quite impressed.

“Same difference, that.” Bull commented.

“Well, Commander?” Josephine taunted.

“I’ll take it. Here.” Cullen placed another five Royals into the pot with a cocky grin for the Ambassador.

She flipped her cards to show five Songs in her hand and four Songs on the board. She raised an eyebrow and smiled at the Commander as if to say, ‘top that’.

He did.

“I believe this hand is mine.” He said, showing the five highest Knights as well as the Angel of Death. Her mouth dropped open with shock. She sputtered in amazement as the Commander scooped in the pot.

“How...when...what?” The Antivan Ambassador seemed to have lost her composure for the first time in her life. Sera burst out in giggles, which was infectious enough to send Vivienne, Cassandra, and Bronwynn into giggles as well.

“Well, I must say that was unexpected.” Josephine finally managed to get out, sounding rather prim.

“Last game, I told a story about life in the Circle.” Cullen said with a grin. “How about you give us one about your finishing school?” Josephine shook her head.

“Sadly, I am not the storyteller you and our Inquisitor are.”

“Oh!” Bronwynn said with surprise. “I just remembered one that will have Gordon hiding under the table!”

“No.” Blackwall objected, leaning forward to narrow his brown eyes at her. She grinned wickedly in response.

“ _Yes_!” Both Josephine and Cullen shouted at the same time.

“We were at Ostagar,” she started. “And the first _real_ snow had just come in overnight.” The black-haired man buried his face in his hands, knowing this was going to be even more embarrassing in the retelling.

“Now this particular night the mages in camp had been diligently putting warming spells inside tents to help keep the soldiers from stiffening up overnight with the cold; and I personally had seen to the tents in the Warden camp.”

Everyone leaned forward to hear their friend speaking, except for Blackwall. He groaned when she described how he’d frozen himself _inside_ his tent.

“We never did figure out _how_ he got that much water all over his tent.” She finished. Josephine turned wide amber eyes onto her lover before giving in to her laughter.

All of the Inquisition team roared with laughter at the solid man’s look of vengeance.

“Just wait, Wynnie. Just wait.” The warrior said with good natured laughter when everyone else had calmed down.

The clock struck two, drawing eyes to the window, bringing everyone to awareness of how late it had gotten. Bronwynn and Cullen turned to see the staff was waiting, patiently, for them to finish their game and the Inquisitor waved them to bed.

“It can wait until daylight, ladies and gentlemen.” Vivienne told them as well. “Off to bed with you all.”

“This was much more fun than the last time.” Cullen said on a yawn as the group entered the keep.

“That’s because this time you won.” Sera quipped before she slipped off to her quarters.

“I think she’s right.” Cullen agreed when he had picked Bronwynn up to carry her to their room.

“Goodnight!” Bronwynn called over his shoulder.

* * *

 

The first of many balls, routes, and parties planned by Josephine in the bid to refocus the world’s eyes on the Inquisitor had been going strong for an hour. Finding herself getting frustrated, Bronwynn found Solas near the Throne Room and appropriated his attention.

“If you value your bald head, Fen’harel, you will stand next to me and smile.” Bronwynn Dani Amell-Rutherford said to the ancient elf softly and with mock malice. Said elf merely smiled at his friend and took her arm in his.

            “Feeling put upon, Inquisitor?” He asked serenely. She gave a scoffing huff in answer. “I understand that Cole has gone to find his old friend Rhys.”

            “He is insisting that I need him because he is a healer like his mother.” The pregnant mage replied. “I tried to make him understand I didn’t want anyone else in the way of the person killing my people.”

            “And yet our spirit friend seems quite serious about your needing a healer he trusts.” They had reached the Great Hall by then and Solas subtly steered his leader to a chair on a raised dais next to one of the fireplaces. Josephine had set up several of these around the hall, so the mage could sit when she needed to. She may not have been very far along in her pregnancy, but she tired easily.

            “If you, Vivienne, and Dorian would bother to answer his questions he wouldn’t have left.” She grumbled. Once more the elf laughed. “Oh enough, Solas.” Bronwynn sighed, waving to the chair next to her.

            “I am sorry, Lethallan.” He replied while still laughing. “It has been a long time since I have had the pleasure of being with a friend who is to give birth.” She rolled her emerald eyes and leaned over the arm of her chair to whisper to him.

            “News flash, Dread Wolf,” she said. “I’m not due for another six months.” The droll tone brought further chuckles from her friend. The sound brought attention from their noble guests. Several hours then passed while the two made small talk with those nobles, using the conversations to subtly gather information for Cullen and Bull.

            Both mages would subtly verbally cut certain nobles bloody when they dared to mock the Inquisition or either of them. Of course, as the nobles that were at Skyhold this week were there to celebrate Wintermarch, the first day of the first month of the year, it wasn’t necessary often. The group of nobles from all over Southern Thedas were in high spirits and Bronwynn found herself amused at how easily the Orlesian’s, self-proclaimed masters of the Game, were maneuvered into giving away their own agendas.

            Dorian slipped into the chair that was across from Bronwynn, waving Solas off.

            “Our dear Ambassador could use a hand with those two women from Orlais.” He made a face of mock horror. “Those De Launcet girls.”

            “Oooh, no. I will not have you sacrificing Solas to those horrible … women …” Bronwynn shuddered with only slight melodrama. Fifi and Babbette de Launcet were the worst examples of nobles she’d ever had the misfortune to meet. Their fashion sense was very Free Marcher; though it appeared they had taken their cue from Starkhaven or Ansburg. Their attitudes, however, were quite Ferelden; considering they had been raised in Kirkwall it was more than amusing to watch.

            “Is their mother here?” Bronwynn asked, sounding both hopeful and fearful. Dorian chuckled and pointed to the desserts table.

            “The inestimable Dulci de Launcet is attempting to bait our dearest Vivienne.” Solas’ eyes began to twinkle before he twisted his hand, energy enveloping a cup on the table between them.

            “Oh, darling Dulci, I understand your daughter-in-law has begun collecting _actual_ cows now.” They heard Vivienne saying from the ball of energy. Her voice was distorted, true, but it was her voice. “Not just porcelain ones, I can’t _imagine_ just how _adorable_ your summer estate looks now, not to mention the _odor_.”

            From where the trio sat they could see the vapid brunette’s face turning purple.

            “Dear Dulci, perhaps you should check on your fishwife daughters.” The Grand Enchanter suggested, pity rather than malice dripping from her cultured voice.

            “Neat spell, that.” Dorian commented after the three were done laughing. “How long have you had that in your repertoire?” He asked the elf.

            “Only a few weeks.” Solas admitted. “After seeing the spell you came up with to clarify maps, I couldn’t very well let myself be left behind in the new spell department.” Dorian chuckled.

“Oh no, she’s coming this way.” Bronwynn groaned softly before plastering a pleasant smile on her lips. Solas gracefully rose from his seat, both offering the noble lady a place to sit and excusing himself from the conversation all at once.

“My Lady Inquisitor!” Dulci de Launcet’s thick Orlesian accent perfectly suited her alto voice. Broad forehead, angled cheekbones, soft rounded nose, and chin complimented with full lips, the woman’s face was actually quite attractive. She kept her light brown hair loose, letting it fall to her shoulders in gentle waves that emphasized the gentle lines of her jaw and neck.

She would have been quite beautiful were it not for her vaunted stupidity. Dulci de Launcet was so vacuous it almost seemed an act. Had Bronwynn not spent so long in Kirkwall dealing with the nobles there she would have thought so herself. Having spent several hours in forced company with the de Launcet’s, however, she now knew better. Her daughters were far more shrewd than they pretended to be but Dulci was truly as stupid as she acted.

Bronwynn guessed this was the reason Comte de Launcet moved them to Kirkwall. She was much safer out of the constant and direct view of the players of the Game.

“Dulci, my dear!” Bronwynn rose gracefully to greet the Comtesse. They touched hands and air kissed each other’s cheeks before Bronwynn directed her to the chair Solas had vacated. “Tell me _all_ about your grandchild! A boy, isn’t it?”

“Oui!” Dulci exclaimed, though not nearly as excitedly as one would have thought. “Guillaume has taken Emile to the house in Emprise. My poor Emile!” She gave a dramatic sigh. “To be stuck with that woman!” Dorian gave the woman an angry glare but Bronwynn made commiserating sounds.

“I remember Nella from the Hanged Man.” She said, her voice sounding quite kind. “She was such a good woman. Who’d have guessed she’d want to marry a sweet mage when she found herself carrying his child?” Dorian’s amber eyes widened with merriment and he almost choked on his breath trying not to laugh aloud at the narrowed glare the other woman landed on the Inquisitor.

“The Hanged Man!” She cried overly loudly.

“Don’t faint, Dulci dear.” Bronwynn said bracingly. “The Comte isn’t here to carry you to your room.” The Orlesian woman sniffled in despair.

“The boy is quite handsome, though.” She went on. “Quite the spitting image of my Emile!” Her blue eyes turned to see what her insufferable daughters were up to and she sighed in dismay. “He’ll be the only grandchild I have.”

Dorian caught the momentary vacant look in Bronwynn’s eyes and tilted his head in anticipation. Her gaze refocused, and she gave the spoiled woman seated with them a curious look. When she looked at him then at de Launcet he nodded and spoke up,

“Unless?” He asked softly, drawing it out to lead her into speaking more.

“Marquise Bouffon keeps her word.” She answered, almost absently.

“What does she want in return?” Dorian managed to keep his voice soft and sibilant, restraining the excitement.

“I just have to give this feather to the Templar.” Dorian felt Bronwynn pulling energy from the atmosphere and watched as she wrapped it gently around him as the brunette was turning back to face them.

“Tell me, Dulci, which Templar?” Bronwynn asked. Dorian didn’t know exactly what the spell was supposed to do but he trusted Bronwynn’s intuition.

“Brevin. He is the son of one of her servants.” Dulci looked at the Inquisitor with a question on her face. “I haven’t seen any of the Templars that follow you, my lady. Why is that?” Bronwynn laughed softly.

“Dulci, you insult Knight-Lieutenant Brevin, he’s right here.” Bronwynn waved to Dorian seated across from them and Dulci turned and frowned.

“OH! I am so sorry!” She reached over and grabbed his hands as she apologized. Reaching up she pulled a blue feather off the collar of her gown. “Your father wanted you to have this.” She pulled back after handing it to him. “He said to tell you…” Here the woman had to stop and think, it was clear it was actually difficult for her. “OH, yes. He said to tell you that, _you should see to it that your_ friend _Sera doesn’t lose her head_.” The Orlesian Comtesse smiled beatifically at Dorian with pride. “I’m to bring _your_ red feather to the Chantry in Kirkwall to let them know you’ve been given the message.”

Dorian merely nodded, keeping his face a mask of disinterest by sheer dint of will. The woman smiled vacuously at them both before rising and heading out.

“I’ll make sure Cullen knows Templar Brevin is working for the Marquise.” Dorian said when she’d left.

“Wait.” Bronwynn said. “While I have the glamour in place, go ask Sera to come sit with me, then go speak with Cullen.” The mage sighed dramatically before rising and doing just that. Both knew that the message was that Sera was supposed to be killed by the Templar in question.

“What in the hell, Wynnie?” The blonde archer said when she sat down. “That sounded like Dorian but looked like a bloody helm polisher.” The mage made short work of explaining the issue and typical of Sera, she merely shrugged it off.

“Do you want to risk Dagna getting in the way?” Bronwynn snapped angrily, if softly. Sera narrowed her green eyes at her friend but huffed out a breath and shook her head. “Good.” Bronwynn went on. “Especially as I don’t want to lose my _sister_.” That put an even more sour look on the archer's face.

“Fine.” She groused, though her eyes had misted over at the sentiment.

The party dragged on for the Inquisitor, though she used her position well. The minor players came to her and when they left her, their behaviour had the more adept players coming to her as well.

* * *

 

            Cullen, Dorian, Vivienne, and Barris stood on the balcony overlooking the Great Hall.

            “Dearest Commander, please take a seat.” Vivienne said imperiously. “The poor boy will be too terrified to speak if you’re looming.” Cullen looked at her blankly before laughing and responding.

            “The _‘boy’_ is older than I am, Grand Enchanter.” The ex-Templar said blandly. “He’ll be more likely to balk at Dorian being party to the conversation than me _looming_.” Dorian chuckled softly since the man in question was undoubtedly quite comfortable in his chosen stance; right hip leaning against the railing with arms crossed. He carried himself as if wearing full armour though he was dressed in silks and velvets that matched his wife’s attire perfectly.

            “He’s got you there, dear.” Dorian taunted. Vivienne gave him a disdainful look down her nose with her chin raised.

            “Commander, Ser.” Barris began, concern deep in his voice. “Are you certain Brevin would actually attempt to kill Serra Sera?”

            “Honestly, I am not, and neither is the Inquisitor.” He answered.

            “What do you know of the de Launcets?” Dorian asked. Barris made a face and Dorian chuckled. “Exactly. In this case she’s good for passing along a message, but that is all she’s going to be good for.”

            “Why would this Marquise Bouffon trust her with any message?” Barris asked. “She is the … dimmest of women.”

“Knight-Vigilant, that is the point.” Vivienne answered. “No one is going to waste time interrogating the woman since she is incapable of keeping a secret and _that_ is no secret.”

“Bronwynn knows she’s trying to get her fishwife daughters married off.” Cullen said wearily. “She told me that would be the best leverage for getting Dulci de Launcet to actually work as a messenger for anyone.” He shrugged with frustration. “The issue is actually that the Marquise believes a child of one of her _servants_ will commit murder for her.”

Vivienne shook her head with a dry laugh in answer to that.

“I am certain you understand the Game well enough to know that isn’t uncommon.” She said to him.

“Every Templar learns the rules, learns to play.” Barris admitted. “Yet I’m not sure any of us would play it that deeply.”

Barris got their attention and waved to the door leading into the library.

“Brevin is coming.” He and the others made room for the Templar, set and ready by the time he reached the balcony.

The Templar was in his mid-forties, his dark hair and olive skin were a strange combination and his violet eyes gave away his elven heritage. Seeing this gave Cullen an idea as to why the Marquise thought she would be obeyed by the man.

“Grand Enchanter, Knight-Vigilant, Commander.” He looked at Dorian, unsure how to greet the man. Cullen made introductions.

“Knight-Lieutenant Brevis, this is Altus Dorian Pavus of Tevinter.” The older man gave a shallow bow while saying Ser. Dorian waved with the back of his hand as if to negate the necessity.

“Pleased and all that, yes?” Dorian said with feigned boredom. He then turned his eyes back to the crowded Hall below, seemingly more interested in the party still raging below. “My, these Orlesians almost match Tevinter in their fervor for gossip.” This had the desired effect of causing the Templar to then ignore the mage.

“Commander, Ser, you wanted to see me?” It was clear the man was uncomfortable speaking with the Inquisition’s Commander, especially with his Knight-Vigilant there.

“We have heard that a Marquise believes you’ll do her a favor.” Barris began, getting straight to the point. To their surprise the Templar barked humorless laughter.

“May I speak frankly?” He asked, looking to Cullen for permission.

“I’d prefer it.” He looked at the others on the balcony. “We all would at this point Knight-Lieutenant.”

“Marquise Bouffon is more of a half-wit than Dulci de Launcet.” He snorted derision. “Just in a different arena.”

“So, her husband is your father?” Dorian asked. The Templar nodded.

“Mother always swore he never forced her, and Father did acknowledge me as his own. His wife cared only that it didn’t interfere in her plans.” He looked up at Commander Cullen, a question on his face.

“What favor does she believe I will perform?” He asked, true curiosity filling his voice.

            Cullen thought for a long moment. He looked over at Barris who nodded back at him, though his face was as serious as Cullen’s own. When the blond man looked at Vivienne and Dorian he got the same nod. They were in agreement.

            “The recent attacks on our people,” He started. He was surprised when the man straightened his shoulders and narrowed his eyes. “Some of them were due to the Marquise though we’re not sure which parts are her plan.”

            “What does that have to do with her favor?” Brevin asked.

            Dorian held up the blue feather that Dulci de Launcet had given him. The Templar’s brown eyes widened briefly before he began laughing.

            “Care to share the jest?” Barris asked. The older man sobered quickly with the tone but did not lose his humor.

            “She told my mother she would sponsor my entrance into the Templars.” The others laughed as the Templars of Southern Thedas didn’t require sponsors. “After my vigil I was sent to Ostwick, I returned to Val Royeaux just before the Starkhaven Circle burned.”

            “The feather?” Cullen prompted, not wanting to get into the Templar’s life story.

            “My mother became ill, the Marquise was kind enough to put her in a cart and send her to the circle.” Brevin snorted in disgust. “With my mother was a letter and a feather.” He held up his hand to forestall the obvious question.

            “She wrote that because she had sponsored me and cared for my mother in her dotage I was to look for a blue feather. Whenever a messenger gave me the feather, whomever they mentioned I was supposed to _dispose_ of.” He frowned as he looked at the new Knight-Vigilant.

            “I informed Knight-Captain Evangeline, Vigilant, as was my duty.” Cullen and Barris both shook their heads.

            “Do you still have the feather?” Cullen asked, the Templar shook his head.

            “As I never planned on following the woman’s orders, I threw it away.” He admitted. Cullen sighed but nodded.

            “Return to your duties.” Barris dismissed the older man, waiting until they saw him leaving by the lower door before questioning the others. “What shall we do from here?”

            “I’ll glamour myself to look like him again and give Comtesse de Launcet a red feather.” Dorian replied. His chocolate brown eyes glittered with malice.

            “We’ll have to put it about that she’s been killed.” Vivienne said softly.

            “No.” Varric said as he joined them clearly having heard the whole conversation. He was amazingly silent for such a sturdily framed dwarf.

            “What?” Vivienne asked, incredulous that anyone would disagree with her so blatantly.

“I finally heard from my contact in Val Royeaux.” He began. “Turns out everyone thinks Dagna was killed.” This news stunned the others.

“How is that possible?” Barris asked.

“Our people aren’t gossiping.” Varric answered, pride colouring his voice. “All anyone is admitting to is losing a dwarf and a human.” Cullen suddenly smiled with malignant humor. The four people on the balcony were suddenly aware of why this man was in charge of the Inquisition's Army.

“Give the feather, Dorian. Varric, you follow the Comtesse; take several agents with you and have them do what they do best.” His eyes turned to Barris. His glacier blue eyes glittered with ice shard hardness. “Let us send the Templars on a ‘training’ mission, Knight-Vigilant.” After a short pause Barris smiled and his expression matched the Commanders.

“Grand Enchanter, may I borrow your Knight-Enchanters?” The leader of the Templar Order asked. Vivienne looked at the two men for several long minutes before nodding her agreement. She wasn’t happy to be in the dark about this plan of the Commander’s, but she trusted him implicitly. “Thank you.” The Templar saluted the party and quickly left them.

“May I inquire as to what this is about?” The dark-skinned mage asked.

“A trap, of sorts.” Cullen answered, gesturing to Varric. “Our esteemed friend, scion of House Tethras, storyteller extraordinaire said something earlier that is starting to sound like the actual plan.”

“The elaborate plan, far too convoluted to actually work unless you don’t know the players in play.” Varric said, his voice gaining a brightness as he reconsidered the information they had.

“We should get Tiny and Buttercup up here.” Varric said before turning to the bell pull that would summon a page.  

 _Bronwynn asks you to join her. Someone asks questions they shouldn’t._ Cullen looked over the railing to see one of the clergy looming over his wife. Her friend Compassion sent a feeling of worry that was clearly its own.

“This will have to wait.” He said. “I’m told there’s not enough distraction.” He made a note to himself to ask Bronwynn why the spirits didn’t always speak with him.

* * *

 

            Bethany Hawke stood in the center of a circle of flattened grass, panting and covered in blood and sweat. Felix Alexius stood at her back also dripping sweat and blood. Nathaniel Howe, an elf named Lana Gainer, and a dwarf named Garric Sharok surrounded the mages in a defensive posture.

            The five of them managed to survive an ambush by a hundred fighters wielding the magicked weapons that had been used at Skyhold.

“Anyone hurt?” Bethany asked, she received no’s all around. Alexius turned to face her, only to catch her as she fell.

“Beth!” The alarm in his voice spurred the others into action.

“Water, please?” She gasped. He allowed her a few sips before checking her for injuries. She giggled softly before shaking her head as if to clear it. “Must have gotten hit by a spell.” She said. She shoved Felix’s hands away and sat up completely.

“I’m not injured.” she insisted after swallowing from the water skin. “At least not by the weapons.” She gave a weak smile before taking another swallow. Alexius shook his head while helping her rise after she capped off the water skin.

“Are you sure you don’t need healing?” He asked her, she blushed when she looked up into his honey brown eyes.

“Um…” She coughed lightly to clear her throat. “Yes. I’m good.” She smiled shyly at him before turning back to her brothers in arms. “Nate?” The older man grinned at her knowingly before nodding to the only other surviving person in the field.

Bethany walked over to where the human mercenary lay, panting and bleeding. Before she could reach for her sword, Bethany kicked it away. Kneeling beside the wounded woman, Bethany gave her a cold smile, looking very much like her brother at that moment.

“Hello.” She said. “I’m Hawke.” The woman’s eyes widened in fear which had Bethany laughing lightly. “Oh, I’m not _that_ Hawke.” She said reassuringly. “I’m the _other_ one.”

“What do you want?” The merc whispered heavily.

“Tell us about your employer.” Bethany said as she pulled out a potion bottle.

Garric and Nathaniel made camp while Felix and Bethany questioned the woman. They were unsurprised when Bethany refused to either kill the mercenary outright or leave her without food and water.

“Give over, Felix.” Garric groused. “Beth knows the risk.” Felix sighed but stopped arguing with her.

“So, two days due west and we’ll reach the weapon smith’s home.” Garric commented after they’d finished eating. “Strange that she sent them mercs after us.”

“Aye.” Nathaniel agreed. “Not that scouts couldn’t have seen us, but why send such a large force after us?”

“Perhaps it has to do with the mine we saw a few days ago.” Felix suggested.

“That could be where she gets the ore for her weapons.” Bethany agreed.

“Still, a hundred?” Nathaniel shook his head in disbelief. “It’s a waste of manpower.” Felix laughed bitterly at the remark.

“This is Tevinter, wasting manpower is considered a necessity.” He looked out over the field still flat from the fight. “How else are you supposed to show your standing when you’re not close enough to summon demons, eh?” The others didn’t miss the bitter look in his eyes.

“How long did you survive with the Blight?” Bethany asked, there was no malice in her question. Indeed she sounded as if she were simply asking for the sake of conversation.

“Three years.” He answered, laughter in his voice.

“Three years of that pain and you don’t think you have enough patience to work towards the future you want for your country.” She chided. Felix gaped at her in amazement while the other Wardens laughed at his look.

“Any of you suffer the poison?” Felix asked softly; Bethany and Garric nodded.

“I was a youngling.” He said, brown eyes looking far away. “Me, da, and me brothers had gone down the Deep Roads ta look for scrap.” He refocused on the group. “Upper part, ya know.” He spoke with the typical jolliness that most dwarves had.

“I thought your da was a merchant?” Lana interjected.

“Aye, a right ‘onorable member of the Guild ‘e were.” Lana laughed along with him. “Well,” Garric sobered up slightly before continuing. “We may have been part of the Merchants guild but we were closer to casteless than not.” He stared off into the distance once more for a long moment before shaking his bearded head as if to clear it.

“Anyway, we’d been down ta those tunnels afore several times; was always good fer bits of gold, silver and copper.” He sighed. “That day we got careless.” His eyes focused on Felix.

“You know how fast they are, boy.” His voice was low and serious, and his eyes were filled with a sadness that Felix knew well. The younger man simply nodded.  “Well, they were on us afore we could e’en move.” Lana reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder. She’d heard his story before and knew his pain. Part of her was glad he finally had someone to whom he could talk to.

“Me father and older brother were the first to die; my second oldest brother, the youngest brother and me managed six o’them but that t’weren’t enough to deter ‘em.”

Alexius reached out with his left hand to tightly grip the Dwarf’s right hand. He conveyed through that touch that he understood, that the man didn’t have to continue. Garric gave a sad smile but kept speaking.

“Baudric was the best fighter among us, though I could out shoot him.” He laughed softly at the memory. “He died fighting like he was part o’the Legion, he did.” The pride in his voice barely outshone the grief.

“Me and Daurin managed to escape only after hiding in an old spider’s nest.” Everyone listening shivered at the thought. “Made it all the way back to Orzammar before I showed any signs of the Blight.” He sighed again, sadly this time. “‘Twas lucky, I was, that there were Wardens coming through at that time.” He gave Felix a sad smile.

“It were twenty years back this. When the Fifth Blight started I’d already been a Warden for fifteen years. The Inquisitor’s cure wouldn’t have worked on me then.” Felix nodded and turned to Bethany who gave him a wry grin.

“I’d gone down the Deep Roads with Bertrand’s expedition into that lost Thaig.” Alexius’ eyes widened, as did Lana and Garric’s. Even they had heard of the Thaig. “There were, of course Darkspawn, but I was with my brother, Varric, and Anders.” The face the beautiful raven-haired woman made at that name would have been comical if it hadn’t been so full of hate.

“Fortunately, Wynnie was there in the Deep Roads with a group of Wardens so I didn’t have to suffer long.” She shrugged sheepishly before continuing. “I’m told that I was close to death when they got me to her. I don’t remember much past agreeing to go, to become a Warden.” Then she admonished him again.

“You are far stronger and more patient than this, Alexius.” She nodded as she finished speaking. “If _Pavus_ can work to make those changes then you should have no trouble succeeding.” This elicited a laugh from the flamboyant mage’s friend.

They reached their destination midway through the day two days later. It had taken a mere look between them all to decide to wait for night.

There was only one building, a two-story adobe that had clearly been made with the local material.

Of course, it being two stories didn’t mean it was small. The building spread out in two clear wings to the east and west. They had come up from the southwest, Skyhold being nearly due east and south from the Silent Plains of Tevinter. From what they could see of the building, it was clearly very new. It couldn’t have been in place for more than ten to fifteen years. Both Felix and Garric pointed out the areas that looked as if they were already in desperate need of repair.

“It’s the air, see?” Garric said by way of explanation. “It’s so dry that it sucks the moisture right out of the ‘dobe.” Felix nodded.

“Worse than a desert, in its way.” The handsome human commented quietly. “As you know, what water there is here is deep underground.” The others all nodded. They had all been grateful for the two mages and the spells they had for either finding water or creating it.

“Then ya have the change in temperature from night to day and back again.” Garric went on. “The drops at night bring moisture, which undermines the stone so that when the sun starts to bake it again come midmorning.” He gave his compatriots a roguish grin.

“Tha’, me friends, we’ll be able to take advantage of.” Lana and Nate gave low laughs in return.

“You mean, _we’ll_ be able to take advantage of, dwarf.” The elven thief said with a slight shove to his shoulder.

The five took advantage of the wait for nightfall to sleep through the worst of the day's heat. It was the cooling of the day that woke them all within moments of one another. The two mages once again proved their worth as teammates by heating water for cooking as well as warming leftover trail biscuits.

            “So, what’s the plan?” Garric asked, knowing that he was likely to be left at the camp since he wasn’t close to being stealthy enough for housebreaking.

            “How much more magic do you dare to use this close?” Nate asked, knowing from experience how warming spells were considered small magics. The two mages looked at one another for several moments before shrugging.

            “I don’t know that I’m comfortable with anything flashy but that doesn’t mean we can’t use more.” Felix said, his cultured, Tevinter accented common was neutral in tone. Bethany sighed as she thought, looking towards the dimly lit building. She knew her teammates, their strengths and weaknesses where Alexius didn’t.

            “How quickly do you think the two of you can find the information the Commander wants?” She asked. Now it was the two thieves turns to look at each other for several moments.

            “Faster if we split up.” Nate suggested, though it was clearly a half-hearted suggestion. Lana shrugged her agreement but didn’t agree outright.

            “We’ll need at least one of them with us to get us through any wards. Safer if only three of us go in.”

            “Then it’s got to be Alexius, since I don’t read Tevene.” Bethany told them, she also sounded disappointed.

            “Then I expect a decent meal when we get back, sister.” Lana said cheerfully. Bethany laughed lightly in response.

            “As you wish, Lethallan.” She responded. She and Garric made sure the others had the gear they’d need for infiltration while Lana and Nate made sure they had their alchemical potions that would help them should they run into trouble.

            “Do me a favor, brother.” Garric grunted at Nathaniel.

            “What’s that?”

            “Don’t run into trouble.” Howe gave the dwarf his roguish grin before calling the other two to head out. The dark-haired mage sat on her haunches next to the equally dark-haired dwarf. She reached out and put her small hand in his large calloused one. He responded by squeezing it gently.

            “They’ll be fine, love.” The older man assured her. She gave a low chuckle.

            “I wish you believed that, Sharok, I really wish you did.” They sat there, silent and still for nearly an hour before he responded.

            “How long before we give them a distraction?” He asked.

            “If they’re not back by three.” She answered shakily.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we finally see something being done! AAaugh! I honestly hated drawing it out this much.   
> By the by, I AM NEVER WRITING MYSTERY AGAIN!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the loooong delay; I love that you are all so patient with me. Sadly, last chapter is going to be late also; because I haven't finished it. I will take the beatings you bestow most humbly. (WEFG)

 

“Movement.” Garric called softly. Bethany rolled silently to her feet, taking a relaxed but battle-ready stance, facing the direction of the dwarf’s keen gaze. The two Wardens were watching for the telltale pattern of Warden Armor that would let them know their friends were coming back. A tense five minutes passed before Garric huffed out in relief.  “‘Tis them.” He said softly, and though his demeanor didn’t show any problems, she readied herself for healing just in case he was trying to keep her calm.

It took the three of them another agonizing ten minutes to make their way to the camp through the darkness of the night. When they arrived, Bethany and Garric were relieved to see that no one was hurt, and they were in good spirits.

            “Keep watch, Garric.” Nate said as he dropped to a crouch. “We will need to move before long.” He didn’t sound distressed.

            “Find what the Commander needed?” Bethany asked as she began to dismantle the small camp they’d set up.

            “That and more.” Lana said, excitement filling her whole face as she took a much-deserved rest. Even Felix seemed to hum with energy from their discovery.

~*~*~*~*~*~

            The small party wasted no time in long discussion. Once Nathaniel, Lana, and Felix rested, the group quickly left the area. Knowing how important their findings were to protecting the Warden Commander, they hastily made for the Nevarran. They stopped only long enough to sleep for a few hours every day. Two weeks to get to the compound from the border felt like a month to get back despite the time they made.

Lana called a halt four hours after they crossed the Nevarran border. The five collapsed where they stopped, panting. Once they’d caught their breath, Felix quickly called water for them to drink.

“Send that bird, Sharok.” Nathaniel prompted shortly after. A quick whistle and a raven circled its way down to the dwarf. Bethany made quick work of writing the confirmation while he fed the bird.

Summer in Nevarra was a riot of colors and sounds, especially out in the country, away from the nearest towns. Taking time to rest and eat, the five discussed their travel options.

“I think Lana is right, we’d be best served to pick up horses as soon as we can.” Nathaniel sighed, ending an argument between Garric and Lana. “We need to get back as quickly as possible and that’s going to be it.” Garric sighed dramatically. He hated riding, he always felt as if he were floating when he did.

“Nearest place to get them is going to be Solas.” Lana said. “Mayhap we should get a cart for the dwarf.” She added so nonchalantly it took a moment for Garric to catch the joke. His response was to throw a hardtack biscuit at her head.

The group made it to the mid-sized village in only a few hours and procured horses, tack, and other essential gear before heading out once again. Wardens were used to travelling light and fast. Alexius may not have been quite as capable as they, but he didn’t hold them back. They made it to the Frostback mountains in under two weeks. Another five days found them crossing the bridge into Skyhold Keep where they were met by Blackwall and Harding.

“Good thing we had the scouts keeping watch for you.” Blackwall said by way of greeting, his voice full of mischief. “Otherwise you’d have gone unnoticed.” His bearded grin was a welcome sight to them all.

“The Commander wants you in his office immediately.” Harding said, taking the reins of Nathaniel and Felix’s horses. “Head on up.”

Lana and Garric hurried away with Harding to help care for the horses. Blackwall led the others up to Cullen’s office, making himself comfortable against the wall.

“Do you all know Dorian, Solas, and Iron Bull?” Cullen asked. Blackwall took up introductions at the chorus of no’s.                

“Grab a seat, Wardens, Ser Alexius.” Cullen ordered with a wave of his hand to the chairs along the wall. “Food will be here shortly; but we’ve a need to get on this as quickly as possible.”

“Has something else happened?” Bethany asked. Cullen shook his head no as they sat.

“Not yet.” He replied. “We’re waiting to see if the trap we’ve baited will catch its prey or not.”

Cullen looked at the group for a moment before continuing.

“What did you find?”

Nathaniel and Bethany looked to Felix, who laughed softly at them before speaking. He could tell by their body language they were nervous in such lofty company.

“The process on how the weapons are made, first.” He then replied, nodding when Nathaniel handed him the papers with the instructions. “The woman didn’t have them secured so it was rather easy to copy.”

Dorian looked them over before handing them back to the Wardens.

“It would be best if no one else had the ability to do this.” He said. “But we did promise Blackwall.” Bethany nodded as she handed the sheaf over to Blackwall.

“This will be a tremendous help against the Darkspawn.” He replied, nodding his thanks.

“We also found the formulae for three different poisons.” Felix went on. “I’m not sure which ones are being used on the weapons, so I took them all.” Handing another sheaf of papers to Dorian, he grinned at his friend. “This is not an excuse for you to get poisoned again, understand?” Dorian rolled his eyes and made an obscene gesture.

“Not sure which of these names are the one you’re looking for.” Felix went on, handing him another small stack of papers.

 “I’m sure _one_ of these is the main buyer, but since none of the three are Tevinter, I can’t be sure which ones aren’t.” He shrugged apologetically.

Cullen waited until Dorian looked up and nodded to him before dismissing Felix.

“If you’ll go with Bull, Ser Alexius, he’ll debrief you.” Felix nodded, rising to follow the Qunari.

“Dinner this evening, Dorian?” Felix asked. Dorian grinned at his friend and nodded.

“There is much to catch up on, friend.” Dorian replied.

Nathaniel and Bethany waited for Cullen to speak after the two left.

“Bronwynn wanted me to fill you in.” He told them. “It seems an old …” He hesitated a moment. “Enemy from Kinloch Hold is behind the attacks.”

Bethany sucked in a breath. She’d learned much of Bronwynn’s time in the Circle before she’d been ordered to assist the Divine.

“I thought most of the mages in the Hold died?” Bethany said.

“Most, yes, but not all.” He admitted. “This one left before the Circle fell.” He shook his head before continuing.

“A mage named Marielle Darroch.” He said. “Apparently she thinks killing Bron will allow her to…” He grimaced instead of finishing the statement.

“To what?” Nathaniel asked.

“She thinks killing Wynnie will get our dear Commander to see she’s better than the Inquisitor.” Dorian said. “Apparently she believes herself in love with him.”

Bethany and Nathaniel frowned in confusion, neither sure how to react to this.

“Obviously she’s insane.” Cullen said, drawing a laugh from Dorian.

“She has quite the plot.” Dorian intoned. “From what we’ve managed to put together, anyway.”

“What plot?” Nathaniel asked, curiosity coloring the question.

“It seems she thinks that killing key members of the Inquisition will get Bronwynn away from her protection.” Cullen said. “Clearly she doesn’t know the players involved.

“What is it she needs from us?” Nathaniel asked.

Cullen nodded to Blackwall who spoke up then.

“We’re working patrols with the Inquisition forces.” He told them. “The idea is to make the keep look empty.”

“To what end?” Bethany asked.

“We’re expecting several Tal Vashoth; well, several Ben Hassrath pretending to be Tal Vashoth.” Cullen answered.

“If we’re correct about the plot,” Dorian continued. “Then one of the smaller players will be sending someone after Bull.” There was an anger to his tone that no one missed, and all could understand.

“We’re going to prevent anything from happening, Dorian.” Blackwall rumbled reassuringly. “Warden Howe, I’m putting you in charge of the Wardens here at the keep, you’ll work with Captain Harding on the patrols.” Nathaniel nodded his agreement.

“Warden Hawke, you’re being sent to Redcliffe to work with Corporal Vale.” At her frown of confusion, he clarified. “He refuses to be promoted but he knows the Hinterlands as well as Harding and the King trusts him to keep the Wardens in the know.” She nodded to show she understood. “That will be all.” He said by way of dismissal.

Several minutes passed before Blackwall spoke again.

“Commander, may I make a suggestion?”

“Of course, Constable.”

“Send an agent to Tevinter.”

The suggestion caught both Cullen and Dorian off guard.

“An attack on Varric would come from Kirkwall, or the Free Marches in general.” Blackwall continued. “We’re not sure if the Ben Hassrath are actually going to send anyone after Bull, and it really doesn’t make sense for them to do so; at least not right now.”

Both men nodded to show they were listening.

“I understand the Marquis believes herself more important to this plot than she is; but her lack of … standing as it were, has me concerned.”

“Why?” Cullen asked. He knew Blackwall wasn’t deep into the Game, often refusing to join the Inner Circle when Bronwynn asked them to join her for balls or routes. Cullen knew Sera was much more adept at the Game and at playing it, though most wouldn’t think so. Blackwall did have an insight to the players though.

“As I understand it, Varric learned she has her sights set on a particular noble that supports us, yes?” Dorian nodded yes to this. “And Vivienne discovered from the Bard who killed the Tranquil, that it was done to discredit her?”

“To discredit Vivienne as well as the Divine.” Cullen answered.

“Wasn’t the one who paid for it a low-level Enchanter from Montsimmard?” Blackwall asked, bringing looks of comprehension to the other’s eyes.

“Two people of low standing, with desires above their ability to grasp.” Dorian said in awe. “Why didn’t we see that?”

“Because you were looking at the larger picture.” Blackwall shrugged in response. “I was able to think about the thing that bothered me about the first attempt.” He said.

“Which was?” Cullen asked.

“Why Ginnis was unable to name her employer.”

“She never met the one who employed her, she received the mission through her handler.” Cullen answered.

“Meaning there is at least one player of this game who is intelligent enough to follow the orders of this mage.”

“So you think Tevinter?” Cullen asked dubiously. Blackwall shook his head.

“I think it is the one place we truly haven’t looked too hard into.” He replied. “Seeing as the Inquisition is unable to move freely within the Imperium, perhaps it’s colored our thought process on it.”

“I’m never doubting you again, Blackwall.” Dorian said with awe.

“What do you expect to find?” Cullen asked.

“There has to be more than one mage who would like to get rid of Madame de Fer.” He answered dryly. “Or it could be someone who thinks of it as a courtship ritual for our friend here.” He pointed to Dorian as he said this.

“Well, damn.” Dorian said. “Not that I think it would be me they were courting, but it would certainly fit within old school Tevinter thought processes.” He admitted. “Prove you can take out an ally, especially one who’s close to you to prove they’re the better mage, better ally.”

Cullen sat back in his chair and sighed with frustration.

“We may need to do something about these cats’ paws of hers before we deal with her directly.” He said.

Silence fell in the office, the ticking of the water clock sounding loud as the three men thought.

“I hate to admit it, gentlemen, but perhaps Vivienne could be of use in this instance?” Blackwall said. Cullen gave the older man a wry grin.

“I agree, perhaps you could fill her in while you’re in Val Royeaux?”

There was a sharp rap on the west door before he could respond.

“Enter!” Cullen called.

The door opened on two of the guard, each holding the arm of an elf girl who looked as if she’d been raped and beaten.

“She insisted on speaking with you, Ser, before letting us take her to a healer.” One of them said. Dorian and Blackwall made quick work of getting her into one of the cushioned seats.

“Get the Inquisitor.” Cullen ordered, one of the guardsmen shouted off to do so while Blackwall took his leave, not wanting to be in the way. The woman betting carried in was severely injured and fewer people in the room would allow her to be more comfortable.

Dorian grabbed a healing potion Cullen kept in his office and poured it into cup of tea, which he made very sweet.

“The Inquisitor makes her potions strong and bitter.” He said, handing the drink to her. “Best to down it all in one gulp.” She tried pushing it away, but he wasn’t having it.

“My dear, you are going to drink this if I have to force it down your throat. _Then_ you are going to tell us who did this to you, so we may visit interesting and painful tortures upon their person in return.”

The look of surprise on the elf’s face spoke volumes about how she thought no one would care about her condition. She’d been shocked enough when the guards at the gate immediately called for replacements, so they could half carry her to the Commander's office when she refused medical treatment.

“Why?” She asked softly.

“Because no one deserves this.” Cullen answered, a seething anger simmering beneath the words.

“I’m just an elf.” She stated. A common thought amongst many humans and they weren't surprised to hear the bitterness in her voice.

“Stop.” Dorian said softly, squatting before her and being careful to keep his hands where she could see them as well as to give her room to move.

“This man to my left, clenching his fists, means it when he says _no one_ deserves this.”  Dorian made sure she was looking into his eyes. He wanted her to see his sincerity. “We _both_ do.”

“ _Why_?” She demanded, sounding as if she were about to break.

“No one is better than, more important than, or even more entitled to life than anyone else.” Cullen said hotly. “If there is nothing else we get from Andraste’s Chant, we should understand that. She fought against the Imperium for the equality of all.”

The passion in his voice brought tears to the elf’s eyes. She could see as well as hear his conviction.

Bronwynn entered the room with another mage right behind her. Tall, dark but silvering hair as well as a full silvering beard. What one can see of his face was chiseled, his body lean and hard under his robes. It was clear this man was used to being on the move and fighting.

There was also, however, a kindness to his eyes that belied the hard exterior. He and Bronwynn both gasped softly when they saw the woman in the chair.

“Bronwynn.” The man said sternly when she called up healing magic. She let it die but growled angrily at him.

“My heart,” Cullen said soothingly. “Rhys isn’t going to let her suffer.” He raised his brows when she turned ire filled eyes on him. Rhys proved it by sliding her to the side and moving in front of the woman.

“What is your name?” He asked her.

“Syla.” He nodded and introduced himself.

“I am Rhys, Syla. May I use my magic to heal you?” Syla gave him a look that spoke volumes about his request. She was so surprised by it that Bronwynn felt compelled to explain.

“He’s a strange one, yes.” Bronwynn told her kindly. “But he doesn't want to cause you harm.” Rhys nodded his assurance when the elf looked up at him.

“Yes, Ser mage, you may use your magic on me.” She answered, quite formally. When he pulled up healing magic it was mostly blue and soft, unlike anything she’d ever seen before.

“Take a deep breath, Syla.” He ordered softly. “Let it out slowly once you see the magic over your eyes.”

She did as he told her and was amazed at how quickly the pain she’d felt for several weeks finally abated.

“Thank you for allowing me to heal you, Syla.” He said when it was done a few moments later. Her green eyes filled with tears of gratitude.

“Thank y-you, Ser.” She whispered trying to keep from crying outright. It was clear to Rhys and Bronwynn this was the first time she’d been treated with any kindness in a very long time. Bronwynn moved so she was squatting in front of the woman, carefully reaching out to take her small, work roughed hands in her own.

“Please, Syla.” Bronwynn pleaded. “Let us know how we can help you.”

“I came to tell the Inquisition what _he_ wants to do, what _he_ plans to do.” Syla croaked through the tears she was holding back.

“Since _he_ obviously did this to you, tell me who _he_ is.” Bronwynn asked.

            “Chevalier Stefan Renfield.” Syla said with her head bowed.

Bronwynn gently squeezed her hands and said thank you before standing.

             “Be gentle.” She said to Dorian and Cullen, who both gave her incredulous looks.

            “Of course.” Dorian replied, sounding insulted.

           Syla watched the two mages leave then turned to look at the Commander and Dorian.

            “We will deal with this Chevalier.” Cullen said firmly. “He will answer for what he’s done to you.”

            “That isn’t why I came.” She replied. “I only wanted to prevent him from getting what he wants.”

            Dorian smiled at her, a smile full of promise.

            “Telling us what you came for will only make it easier for us to get to him.” Dorian said. “It will be more for him to answer for.”

            “I’m an elf.” She said bitterly. “The law will not punish him for what he has done to me.” Cullen leaned forward from his position on the edge of the desk.

            “He _will_ know his crimes against _you_ are what he’s paying for.” He promised. Syla could tell he meant it.

            “He was passed over for several positions with upper nobility.” She said softly. “He believes he’s better than all of them; and they all know it. He’s terrible at playing the Game.”

            She took a moment to gather her thoughts before continuing.

            “He received a letter, four months ago, detailing a plot that he laughed at.” She raised her eyes to look up at Cullen. “At first.”

            “Do you remember what the letter said?” Cullen asked, knowing she’d read it. She smiled at him.

            “ _MiLord Renfield, I write to you with an Idea and Plan that will gain us Both what we most desire._

_First, understand I recognize your status as the child of the Duc. He should have recognized you over the woman he called his daughter. We both know the whore for what she is._

_Secondly, what I Desire is for Bronwynn Amell to die, brutally and by my Hand. She has stolen from me and I wish her to pay._

_That which you desire, above being recognized as the Noble You are, is easily obtained should you follow my instructions Exactly._

_Send someone to kill the Qunari midsummer, his death will interrupt the Bitch’s plans and force her to leave the Keep with minimal guards._

_So long as you see to the Qunari’s death, nor do you cause Her death, you may do as you wish._

_MiLord,_ She _can be yours, under lock and key as long as you follow my instructions._

 _Countess Rutherford_ ”

Dorian and Cullen gave her impressed looks.

“What else do you know?” Cullen said, moving on for her sake.

“He learned that Marquis Buffon was a second player, a mage from Montsimmard a third, and an Altus from Tevinter the final player. He never learned the other names.” She gave a bitter laugh. “He never knew how much I kept from him.”

“What did _you_ learn?” Dorian asked, acknowledging her skills.

“The mage has never progressed beyond Apprentice, apparently he only narrowly passed the Harrowing, and he thinks he should be Grand Enchanter simply because he is Elvhenan and male.” She shook her head.

“His name is Linayel.” She went on. “It was his job to see to it that your Arcanist was killed. His reward is the deaths of several people who would, supposedly, prevent him from being elected Grand Enchanter.” She gave them a wry smile.

“From what we went through to get Vivienne named Grand Enchanter, I doubt it is that simple.” Dorian piped up with. Cullen snorted amused laughter.

“If Vivienne hadn’t already had the influence she did _as well as_ having helped destroy Corypheus and close the Breach, it still wouldn’t have happened.” Cullen replied.

“His role in this has to be more important than Renfield’s.” Syla said, her voice cracking with dryness. Cullen moved slowly and carefully to fill a goblet with water then handed it to her.

“Why do you say that?” Dorian asked when she finished drinking a second cup.

“His first task was to distract the Inquisition forces with the death of the Arcanist.” She replied. “His second task, to discredit the Grand Enchanter as well as the Inquisitor.” At Dorian’s questioning look she shrugged.

“I don’t know how he was to do either.” She admitted. “My contact was unable to get either his correspondence or his confidence.”

“Buffon was to kill Sera?” Dorian clarified. She nodded.

“She has a little influence.” Syla said. “Not enough to get invited to the upper circles of Orlais.” The men nodded. “Yet she has enough to get Renfield recognized as the bastard son of Duc Gaspard.”

Syla laughed again, bitterly and maliciously.

“Gaspard isn't his father. The man is a bastard through and through.” She intoned. “His mother was a whore from the streets. He was sent to the Chantry to be raised when the woman died. What little influence he was able to gain, he used up to become a Chevalier.”

Her gaze focused on the clock in the room, watching the second hand tick along as the water inside the clock dripped.

“The Altus is just barely noble. Two generations before his family were Soporati.” Sighing she shifted in the chair, sitting forward with her hands on her knees.

“Part of his role is actually to capture the Grand Enchanter.” She shook her head in disgust. “This is Renfield’s reward. He wants her under his control because he thought Duke de Ghislaine a fool. He hates all the nobility beyond all reason so even though Bastien de Ghislaine is dead Renfield _must_ have his mistress “ Cullen and Dorian laughed sardonically at the thought.

“He does know that she managed to convince half a dozen Bards sent to kill her to work for her and sent six back to their employers literally frozen.” Cullen asked. Syla barked out an ironic laugh in answer.

“He has bought a set of bindings from the Black Emporium he believes will actually prevent her from using magic.” Dorian looked at her doubtfully.

“I sincerely doubt there are such things.” He said to her.

“He managed to get a mage during the war.” She told them. “I am not sure how, though I am sure it wasn’t a pleasant thing for her.” She shuddered violently in remembrance.

“He’d sent his followers, bodyguards, thugs; I’m not sure what Remy and Charles would be called.” There was a hate combined with fear in her voice when she named them. “Renfield sent them to ‘ _fetch her_ ’ as he put it. They used the shackles to bind her.”

“I am afraid to ask what he did to test the shackles.” Dorian whispered at the look on her face. Syla took a deep breath and let it out slowly before she continued.

“Remy and Charles enjoy doing Renfield’s bidding; they will do exactly what he tells them.”

Renfield bragged to her that the cuffs and chains were enchanted to suppress her magic.” She paused for a short moment.

He … allowed Remy and Charles to … _play_.” Cullen and Dorian clearly understood what she meant.

“I watched Remy and Charles; two very large men who look far from intelligent and who clearly enjoy hurting women, rape her as well as cut her.” She took yet another deep breath. Talking about these things was obviously very hard on her.

“I don’t know if she couldn’t do magic because of the shackles or because of what they did to her.” Tears filled her eyes, though she didn’t let them fall.

“Syla, you don’t have to go into detail.” Cullen said gently. “I don’t want to cause you more distress.” Her responses were a watery smile along with soft, angry, and bitter laugh.

“I want it out of my head.” She said with a slight panic. “I want to be able to forget the things he did to me as well as in front of me.”

Cullen reached out and gently took her hands in his, kneeling in front to her.  
            “I understand.” He said softly. “There are things I truly wish I could forget.” She frowned at him, clearly doubtful.

“I was a Templar.” He told her. “There were failed Harrowings, rituals gone wrong, young mages who couldn’t control their magics and immolated themselves.” He took a deep breath before continuing.

“My Circle fell to blood mages.” He told her. “I would forget that time, if I could.” He admitted. “I have learned that forgetting is not possible.” He squeezed her fingers lightly.

“We can’t forget.” He said again. “What happened, hurt us. We can, however,” he went on. “Turn that pain into fuel to motivate us to make sure their kind can’t and _won’t_ win.” Again, he squeezed her fingers gently. “ _We_ can heal and be stronger, despite their best efforts.”

She searched his eyes for several long moments before nodding.

“My wife has a saying, though. _Pain shared is pain halved_.” He told her. “There are those here who will lend you an ear if you need to speak of your pain. Others will happily help you work it out physically if that is what you need.” His smile was kind as well as jovial. “Just be aware, no one will take pity on you.”

Syla smiled back, filled with sadness but Cullen could see the beginnings of relief in her eyes.

“Unless the details are important to the telling, you don’t have to speak them.” Cullen gently ordered. She nodded her agreement.

“The likelihood she couldn’t do magic was more likely due to terror than the shackles.” Cullen said after moving so he was sitting behind his desk. “I have to agree with Dorian about no shackles being able to be enchanted to prevent a mage from using their gifts.”

“Why not?” She asked, truly curious.

“Ex-Templar.” He said matter-of-factly. “If there were a way to prevent mages from using their magics the Chantry would have discovered it, believe me.”

She clearly wanted to argue but also knew that Templars would definitely know.

“The name of the Altus, Syla?” Dorian asked.

“Caladrius.” She shook her head at the name. “Interesting side note.” She said. “He tried to enslave the entire alienage of Denerim during the Blight.” Dorian frowned in disbelief.

“I will never understand _how_ and _why_ the people of my home fail to recognize we have _plenty_ of elves in Tevinter and we don’t need more.” He slapped his knee. “We especially don’t need any more slaves.”

Her eyes widened in surprise at his vehemence.

“ _You_ actually think slavery is bad?” She asked, doubtful.

“I have recently had it brought to my attention that though the Alienages may not be better for the elves _financially_ , having the freedom to choose is always better than not.” He answered dryly. “Our dear Inquisitor can be quite convincing.”

“This means we know the four players for certain.” Cullen interjected with slight humour.

“Marquis Buffon, Chevalier Renfield, Mage Linayel, and Altus Caladrius.” Dorian recited.

“Is there anything else of note, Syla, you wish to tell us?” Dorian asked. She thought for a long moment before shaking her head no.

“If I think of anything, who should I tell?” She asked nervously.

“Do you know who the Inquisitor’s Inner Circle is by sight?” Cullen asked.

“Aye.”

“Then if you can’t find Dorian or myself, find one of them.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            “ _Cole_!” Bronwynn shouted in exasperation. “Please _stop_ fussing.” The young man stopped moving, looking guiltily at his friend. His hands were full of pillows and they twitched with the desire to place them.

            “Your back is hurting.” He complained. Rhys; who was going through Bronwynn’s healing journals, burst out laughing at the sound of his old friend whining.

            “Yes, but I only need _one_ pillow to make me more comfortable; not every pillow in the keep.” She replied acerbically. She groaned in frustration when he drew back, looking even more guilty.

            “Cole, sit down, talk with me.” She asked, patting the seat next to her. “Distraction would be better than hovering. Be still, for just a time.”

            “I am not sure I know how to be still.” He admitted.

            “Tell me about Val Chevin.” Bronwynn asked.

            Cole managed to sit next to her, regaling her with strange stories from his time at Val Chevin before he was up, needing to move.

            “I will see if the Commander needs me.” He said suddenly, realizing his bouncing around was disturbing her. Bronwynn smiled gratefully at him.

            “I am pleased to see he has not changed greatly under your care.” Rhys said fondly, moving to sit across from her by the fire.

            “He didn’t need changing.” Bronwynn said, her own voice fond.

            “Evangeline would argue that.” He replied.

            “I honestly doubt she would, Rhys.” Bronwynn said. “I think that her experiences will allow her to see things in a different light.”

            “After everything we have been through, you may be correct.” He replied after a moment’s thought. He caught Bronwynn looking at him quizzically.

            “I still don’t understand why you’re forbidding me to use any magic at all.”

            “You over exerted yourself healing Pavus.” Rhys answered, sounding as if he’d said it before.

            “I’ve done that before.” She replied, sounding the same.

            “You weren’t pregnant before.”

            Bronwynn sighed angrily.

            “I want to understand what that _means_ , Rhys; why can’t I use my magic while pregnant?”

            “There is a risk to the infant, there is a possibility you could deplete enough of your energy you’d miscarry.” He said. Bronwynn swallowed a deep breath. “Between your needing to close the rifts as well as fight…” Rhys sighed sadly. “I am glad you aren’t out closing the rifts, I just wish you’d stopped as soon as you knew you were expecting.”

            “It wouldn’t have been politically smart to do so; it isn’t really good now.” She told him. “The only reason we’re not going to suffer too much now is because of Josephine.”

            “Lady Montilyet is quite the negotiator.” He laughed as he said it. “When Cole came to us to ask us to come take care of you he … recited, for lack of a better word, his plea.” He chuckled at the memory.

            “I imagine he pestered Josie until she told him what he could say to convince you he wasn’t a demon and that he really wanted you to look after me.” Bronwynn said while nodding. “For all that he is so confident in helping others deal with their pain he has no idea how to deal with his own.”

            “Is he truly a spirit?” Rhys asked.

            ‘You, a spiritual medium, don’t know for sure?” Bronwynn asked, amused.

            “He has never seemed like a spirit to me.” He admitted. “Makes it hard for me to believe.”

            Bronwynn laughed lightly when Cole appeared behind Rhys and spoke, causing the older man to jump from the sofa.

            “I have told you I am a demon, Rhys.”

            Rhys stood there, watching his friend for several minutes before turning to Bronwynn.

            “I know the things he did in the Spire.” He said, sitting down again. “Evangeline had far more compassion than I did once we learned he was responsible for so many mages deaths.” Bronwynn nodded her understanding.

            “Yet, he wouldn’t have come to me for help if he were truly a demon.”

            “His understanding of what a demon is, is based on what he learned in the White Spire.” She replied.

            “Only demons want to kill.” Cole said softly, almost in a sing song.

            “Compassion can often be rather extreme.” Bronwynn said, sounding slightly exasperated. Rhys gathered she’d said this a lot. “And you know of better ways now.”

            “Because you, Solas, and Varric help me.” Bronwynn rolled her eyes and sighed.

            “I am guessing you came up here for a reason?” She asked with mock anger. Rhys was surprised when Cole; from behind his back, laughingly pulled a plate, piled high with slices of lemon cake. Rhys joined Cole in his laughter at the greedy look that came over Bronwynn’s face.

            “You don’t eat enough for them.” He said.

            “Cole, everytime you talk about the baby you talk as if there is more than one.” Rhys said, confusion in his voice. Cole nodded vigorously enough the brim of his hat bounced severely.

“There are two souls there.” He answered, pointing to her rounding belly. Bronwynn’s green eyes widened in shock, one hand going to the top of her bump.

“Twins?” She asked reverently. Again, Cole nodded excitedly. Bronwynn began to laugh happily taking the plate from him and then hugging him tightly.

“Don’t tell Cullen!” She ordered happily.

“Wouldn’t he be happy about it?” Cole asked.

“Yes, but I want to tell him.” Bronwynn replied. Cole nodded his understanding then disappeared again.

“Have you gotten used to that?” Rhys asked with a shake of his head. Bronwynn laughed softly in answer.

“I don’t think you _can_ get used to it, really. He is still getting used to the idea that he doesn’t have to hide who and what he is to help.”

“Well, knowing it’s twins means I can help more.” Rhys said. Bronwynn gave him a suspicious look.

“How?”

“You’re going to have to eat more; Cole is right about that.” He answered her kindly. “You’re also going to have to move to a lower floor for the time being.” Bronwynn groaned.

“You’re going to make Elena very happy.” She groused in response. “Josephine as well.” He smiled at her before continuing.

“No more sparring, but I do expect you to walk the walls once a day.” He said. “From the Atrium to the wall below your tower here.” Bronwynn grinned at him.

“I am already doing that, Rhys. You know that.”

“Yes, but I mean even when it’s raining.” Her eyes widened. Rainy days here at the Keep were typically freezing.

“Um, you do know how cold it gets in the Frostbacks, yes?” Bronwynn asked dubiously.

Rhys thought about it for a long moment then conceded the point.

“Very well, it rains, you don’t have to exercise.” He said with humour.

“You clearly haven’t paid any attention these past few weeks, Rhys.”

There was a knock on the door to her suite as she said this, and when it opened, Bull and Sera could be heard arguing about how to deal with one particular noble from Ferelden.

Bronwynn looked at Rhys with raised eyebrows and he laughed.

“Point taken, Inquisitor.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            Blackwall nodded at the mage as she left him in Vivienne’s office. He was going to enjoy telling her what they’d learned from Syla.

            Six months after the first killing, they finally knew with certainty who the players were and where the players were. He’d volunteered to bring the information to the Grand Enchanter since he needed to ensure the Warden Commander of Orlais had everything he needed.

            He gave the room he was in a quick glance and found himself pleasantly surprised at its functionality. He could easily see The Iron Lady working here, he chuckled to himself when he realised just how imposing the room would appear to the younger mages, where older more confident mages would find comfort in the opulence.

            “Just how much did you have to change, Vivienne?’ He asked, when she entered.

            “Nothing.” She replied, waving him to the chairs flanking the fireplace. “I have used this office for years.” He nodded, allowing her to see he was impressed.

            “I know you aren’t one for small talk, Gordon,” Vivienne said to give him his opening to discuss the reason for his visit. He gave a slow nod of appreciation before beginning.

            “The Wardens returned from the Silent Plains shortly after you left, bearing good news.”

            “For a change.” She said, to which he nodded.

            “They confirmed that Marielle Darroch is the one behind the attacks.” He pulled a letter from his armor.

            “We also got a visit from a young elf by the name of Syla.” He said. “And what she had to say both horrified and encouraged Commander Cullen.”

            “How, pray tell?”

            ‘She was brutalized by a man named Stefan Renfield. A Chevalier of no note.” He shrugged at her raised brows. “I spent enough time in Val Chevin to have heard of at least half the Chevaliers that came from there after their training. The only way I would have missed his name is if he hadn’t performed very well at all.”

            Vivienne chuckled at the observation.

            “So, his treatment of her explains the horrified, the encouraged?”

            “Syla left his service to go to Skyhold and report on him directly to Cullen.” He gave her a solemn look. “I saw what she looked like a week after she left the Winter Palace. He deserves to suffer as much as you are willing to do to make it happen.”

            “I gather that is what is in this letter?” He nodded in response.

            “Dorian wrote it, and after what I learned of the bastards treatment of her I’m sure it was a good thing he did. Cullen wanted to challenge the rat-bastard himself.”

            When he didn’t immediately rise to leave, she raised her brows again.

            “I was told by Wynnie to wait until I was sure you had no questions for me.” His voice was so deadpan, Vivienne couldn’t help but chuckle lightly.

            ‘How are she and the baby doing?” Vivienne asked. He grinned in response.

            “The three are doing better now that she’s eating more.”

            “Three of them?”

            “She’s having twins.” Her eyes widened in surprise before she burst out laughing.

            “Kind of explains why Cole kept talking about her like he was, eh?” Blackwall asked.

            “I suppose she is sickeningly ecstatic?” Vivienne asked with an indulgent smile.

            “The last time I saw her so happy was on her wedding day,” He answered before rising and bowing deeply to her.

            “I’ll be in Val Royeaux for a few days if you have need of me, Grand Enchanter.”

            Vivienne turned to the letter; her eyes widened with amazement with each sentence.

            This Chevalier did, indeed deserve what suffering she could inflict upon him. Learning this _connard_ thought she would bow to him only made her angry.

            _Knowing the names of your enemies makes dealing with them childs play_. She thought to herself as she finished reading.

            She quickly penned a note to the butler on staff at her townhouse and smiled when it was off with a page.

            _Yes,_ she thought, _childs play_.

            It wouldn’t take much to incite a man like that to violence, allowing her to perform the appropriate punishment. She only had to wait for the party.

            Two weeks later, Vivienne gave herself a self-satisfied smile in the mirror of her vanity.

            Bastien’s son had happily given her one of the many homes he’d inherited in Val Royeaux, as well as letting her keep her suite of rooms in his mansion.

            This meant she was able to maintain her status independent of the Circle of Magi without having to forgo Circle business.

            With the support of the Inquisition, she’d managed to keep Montsimmard and the White Spire for those of the Loyalist fraternity. With her Senior and First Enchanters, she was able to ensure true education for the younger mages.

            Of course, there was this issue with someone attempting to kill her friend, now. Someone thinking they had the ability to take from her what she’d worked so hard for. As well as a lowly Chevalier who thought he could possess _her_.

            “Not while I breathe, darling.” She said softly and vehemently to her reflection.

            Three servants entered with her gown for the evening and she rose to allow them to put it over her head.

            “This color is amazing, Grand Enchanter.” One said reverently. Vivienne smiled in agreement.

            “The Inquisitor claims she had it made specifically for me.” She said fondly. Where it was true Vivienne would never have the influence Bronwynn did, she didn’t begrudge her friends good fortune. Vivienne knew Bronwynn would rather not be so visible to the public.

            “I hope everything is in place.” Vivienne said. The maids nodded, finishing securing her gown and stepping away.

            Vivienne thanked them with a regal nod of her head and swept from the room. She strode down the stairs to the Hall of the townhome she was using for her route that evening. The butler stepped forward when she reached the bottom, bowing to her.

            “I have no idea what this man looks like.” She told him.

            “As you shouldn’t, Grand Enchanter.” The butler said. “He is too far beneath you to matter.”

            “What solution have you come up with?” She asked him. The two had worked together for nearly thirty years, she trusted him.

            “I will clear my throat when he enters your vision, Madam.” She nodded and took her place in the center of the room when the first knock came, exactly when the clock began to strike six.

            She was unsurprised when the butler cleared his throat close to an hour later. Only those who thought they were more important than she would show so late to one of her gatherings.

            He was boorishly dressed in the armor of a Chevalier on the march. Indeed, his armour was nearly plain, he’d either never seen battle or hadn’t ever won a tourney. He could have been handsome, were his face not twisted into a permanent sneer. He may have been tall, but the armour was ill fitting, so took away from his height.

            Vivienne smiled beatifically when Divine Victoria entered with her entourage exactly on cue, sweeping those before her to the side.

“Your Holiness!” Vivienne greeted, air kissing her cheeks.

“Grand Enchanter.”  Leliana returned. “It was so lovely of you to invite me.”

The women linked arms and moved into the room set aside for the dancing, ignoring the guests who’d been displaced by the Divine’s entrance.

Vivienne and Leliana made their way slowly around the room, stopping to talk to several women of high rank or influence. Their conversation seemed quite benign, though they were able to gather quite a bit of information about Chevalier Renfield as they moved.

Vivienne noticed a mage in the room that shouldn’t be there; one Linayel, apprentice in Montsimmard. Vivienne wasn’t sure if he thought he was going to be able to continue with his personal goal or if he thought he could manage to gain influence while here.

“There we have it, Madam de Fer.” Leliana said quietly when they reached a semi-private alcove. “This Chevalier has delusions of grandeur.”

“He’s not the only one.” Vivienne nodded her head at the mage who passed them, attempting surreptitude and failing miserably.

            Leliana made sure to give a loudly dramatic sigh as he passed.

            “I am unsure, Madam, if I agree with Her Eminence.” She said, just softly enough to  be overheard.

            “She has the right of it, Your Grace, however you may feel on the subject.” Vivienne responded. “The Inquisitor has shown her true colors.”

            Leliana growled in answer. Pretending to disagree.

            “Inquisitor Bronwynn has done nothing of the sort.”

            Both women had been carefully gauging their audience. Where the attendees who were accomplished at The Game recognized the bait and switch tactic; the mage and Chevalier were clearly out of their depth enough to fall for the _invitation_ they perceived.

            Linayel moved in to stand beside the Divine, taking up her argument, only to stutter into silence when Vivienne turned her amber gaze on him. When the Chevalier sidled next to Leliana as well, Linayel tried once again to assert his defense of the Inquisitor. It was so clear he was trying to curry favor with the Divine, even Renfield could hear it.

            “I’m sure neither woman wishes to hear you stammering, mage.” He interrupted coldly. Vivienne almost missed her chance to incite the man when he reached out grasped her hand quite possessively.

            “I find it helpful, Serra, to hear my fellow mages thoughts upon a subject.” She purred, removing her hand from his grasp with the ease of long practice.

            “Indeed.” Leliana added. “Every voice should be heard, even if it takes a few moments to get started.”

            “You would waste time with this no-one mage?” Renfield demanded hotly. Vivienne gave the Chevalier a wolfish smile before turning her back to him and addressing Linayel.

            “Linayel, I must have missed you in the receiving line.” She said, the subtle barb striking home. “Allow me to introduce you to Divine Victoria the VI.”

            Leliana and Vivienne spent only a few moments speaking with the mage before Renfield lost his temper completely. He moved so he was facing the women, drew his weapon and cleaved Linayel’s head from his shoulders in one fluid motion. His thought upon the action was clear on his face; now they will see me and me alone.

            Just as the party goers gasped in shock at the brashness of the sudden action, Vivienne encasing him in ice was clearly not what he’d planned on happening.

“Well, Serra Chevalier.” Leliana said, humour lacing her words. “It seems you have forgotten the first rule of The Game.”

“What rule is that, Your Grace?” He asked as snidely as he could through frozen lips.

“Never be seen drawing your weapon.” Vivienne replied harshly.

“A pity, really.” Leliana said with mock regret.

“How?” Vivienne asked.

“Had he not reacted so rashly I might have made use of him.” She answered.

“Shall I?” Vivienne asked, sounding; and looking, quite bored with the whole affair. Leliana nodded, Vivienne snapped her fingers and Renfield felt the ice hardening.

“Oh!” Leliana said, as if it just occurred to her. “Syla sends her regards.” His eyes widened with the realization he’d been played, and killed, for using an elf.

“Two birds with one stone.” Leliana said sadly.

“Better they be ended here than left to wreak more havoc.” Vivienne said icily. Leliana nodded her agreement but still seemed sad.

“They were partly responsible for the deaths of four Tranquil, Your Grace.” Vivienne reminded her. “Men and women who could not protect themselves.” She hooked her arm through Leliana’s and led her away while the servants removed the bodies and cleaned the floor.


	7. Final Act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the intrigue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank Aurlana that this is finished, I kept imagining her giving me puppy eyes or holding Alistair over my head.

 

Cullen stood in the center of his and Bronwynn’s quarters, arms akimbo, face set in a deep scowl and clearly attempting to remain calm.

His very pregnant wife stood across from him in nearly the same manner, though the pregnancy made her more emotional so there were tears in her eyes.

“You know I’m not letting you leave the Keep right now.” His tone was dark and dangerous; a tone he rarely used and never before with her.

“You need me to be the bait!” She replied vehemently, green eyes flashing with anger. Cullen rubbed his face in frustration before walking to her desk and grabbing several sheets of paper.

“We are both too close to this.” He said as he turned to face her. “I suggest we allow cooler heads to come up with a suitable plan.”

Seeing her face beginning to set into stubbornness he gently cupped it and kissed her.

“She threatens me directly.” She growled.

“You have played this game too long to allow your anger to think for you.” He reminded her.

Huffing out an angry breath she grudgingly acknowledged his point.

Cullen took his leave quickly, hoping she didn’t see it as the escape it was. He disliked arguing with her normally but with her in this condition it ate at him. She would fall back on emotion, though she didn’t realize she was, making it harder to simply discuss a disagreement.

“Cullen, good.” Josephine quipped as he opened the door to her office. “I was hoping to speak to you before the meeting.

“Yes, Ambassador?” He asked; his dark tone and formal response drew a concerned look. Giving him a complete once over she realized he showed signs of being seriously upset.

“What has happened, my friend?” She asked with concern. Cullen looked at her blankly for a long moment before shaking his head, though with humor or regret Josephine couldn’t be sure.

“News has reached Bronwynn of Marquis Bouffon claiming to be able to kill her should she desire.” Josephine scoffed at the notion. “Indeed.” Cullen agreed. “The woman clearly has no sense of self-preservation; but she has made the threat and Bronwynn wants to answer it.”

“Ah.” Josephine said in understanding.

To her amazement, Cullen then collapsed into a chair before the fire, looking quite exhausted, giving her a rare glimpse of the worry he carried.

“We can’t allow that.” Josephine commented thoughtfully. He laughed softly and bitterly at the understatement.

“I will look for any solution, so long as she neither leaves my protection nor faces this woman on her own turf.” Josephine heard the frustration in his voice and gave him a sympathetic pat on the arm.

“Our Bronwynn can be quite the force.” Josephine said, as diplomatic as ever.

A familiar laugh sounded from the door as she said this.

“Truly, Josie.” Bronwynn intoned. “You are allowed to say I can be a bitch.”

“I would never be so crass, Bronwynn.” Josephine said archly. Bronwynn laughed lightly at her friend.

“He is right.” Bronwynn said, pointing in her husband’s direction. “I can’t face this woman on her turf, and I can’t use magic to do it at all.”

“You have a new idea?” Cullen asked darkly, worry still darkening his eyes.

“I do, and you’ll like it better.” She responded. “We announce my pregnancy.”

Josephine and Cullen stared at her, wide eyed with shock.

“That is..” Josephine tried to find words and found herself without them.

Cullen didn’t have that problem.

“Foolish to the extreme.” He answered. Bronwynn raised her hand to stop them both.

“One, it will come out eventually.” She reminded them. “I’m getting big enough it’s hard to hide with clothing alone.” Neither could counter this argument, though clearly they wanted to.

“Two, right now we’re still favorites of Thedas. That isn’t going to last much longer, taking advantage of it now will make it easier to deal with both Buffon and Darroch.”

Bronwynn waited, holding her breath as she did, hoping they would agree with her reasoning. She breathed out slowly when they both nodded thoughtfully.

“Finally,” she went on. “It is clear Buffon has no idea just how out of her league she is. Invite her here, to the Keep where the other guests will be, she will see Kings and Queens, Merchant Princes and other royalty; the woman will most likely humiliate herself and I won’t have to deal with her at all.”

Josephine hmm’d as she thought about Bronwynn’s plan while Cullen frowned as he mulled it over. Neither Bronwynn nor Cullen were surprised when Josephine stood and went to her desk to grab her ever present board. Bronwynn took the chance to sit in the now vacated seat.

“Who do you mean by Kings and Queens?” Josephine asked, Bronwynn smiled in relief.

“Celine, of course, as well as Alistair.” Bronwynn began. “King Augustine, if possible. We could invite the Queen of Antiva, but any or all of the Merchant Princes should be invited.” She went on, naming the rulers of Southern Thedas with ease.

Cullen found himself caught up in the planning before he could extricate himself. The planned meeting between the three Inquisition Council Members became a planning session to thwart a misguided Marquise as well as a menacing mage.

Two days later, Cullen sat staring broodily at the chessboard he’d set up while waiting for Dorian to join him. The keep’s gardeners were happily buzzing around the courtyard as Elan called out instructions for the placement of new plants.

Dorian entered the garden with uncommon haste, he practically ran across the open space once he saw Cullen.

“I have good news, Commander!” He nearly shouted from mid-way through his walk. Cullen looked up with a frown as Dorian practically tossed himself into his seat.

“I could use some good news.” Cullen said somberly.

“Felix sent word; Gereon managed to get Caladrius to challenge him, openly.” Dorian grinned at his friend in triumph.

“I take it Gereon won?” Cullen asked dryly but smiled along with Dorian.

“Indeed, and due to Tevinter law, he now owns everything Caladrius had.” Now Dorian cackled with laughter. “In a daring move, he freed the man’s slaves as well as his own all at once; offering them pay to stay and serve, or money to travel anywhere they wanted to go outside of Tevinter.”

Dorian’s joy was contagious and many of those around them began smiling and talking at once of the good news, spreading it quickly. Dorian noticed, however, that though Cullen seemed glad of the news he was still quite tense and sober.

“Shall we skip the game today, Cullen?” He asked quietly. Cullen nodded and rose quickly. Dorian followed him to his office, keeping a jovial smile on his face to keep those in the Keep off guard. They were used to seeing a somber Commander; seeing a worried Dorian would cause trouble.

“Cullen?” Dorian asked when they’d entered his office. Instead of answering he handed Dorian several pieces of foolscap. Realizing it was a letter, Dorian quickly read through it to discover this was from Marielle Darroch herself.

“She truly believes what she writes?” Dorian asked incredulously. “She believes you stay with Wynnie out of pity?”

Cullen shook his head with a bitter sigh.

“I wondered why the writing looked familiar.” Cullen said, confusing his friend. “After reading this … drivel, I realized why.”

“Go on.” Dorian said.

“While I was in Kirkwall, about once a month, I would get anonymous letters.”

“Written like this?” Dorian asked the obvious, Cullen nodded in response.

“I had no idea who they were from, never even considered they would be from a mage.” Cullen shrugged helplessly.

“You weren’t exactly in a place where love notes were encouraged.” Dorian reminded him. “Also, I can imagine what the other letters could have said if this is an example of her declaring undying love.”

“It is.”

Dorian shook his head with bemusement at the thought. The letter he held read as if it were written by an overly spoiled teenage noble who’d read far too many bad romance plays.

Or Varric’s Sword and Shield series.

“So, when she was in the Circle with you and Wynnie, she thought she deserved to have you because she thought she was better than Wynnie.” Dorian said, sitting in his chair and crossing his legs.

“That is what Bronwynn claims.” Cullen answered, sitting behind his desk.

“She left the Circle in Ferelden and moved to Cumberland, correct?”

Cullen nodded affirmative and Dorian continued with his summation.

“We must assume she learned _who_ _exactly_ the Inquisitor was and became enraged; even more so when it was clear you were once again at Wynnie’s side.”

Dorian paused thoughtfully, his eyes darting over the words written on the vellum.

“This plot is so absurdly convoluted.” Cullen said into the silence. “How could she genuinely expect it to succeed?” He wondered aloud. Dorian could hear the frustration. Clearly Cullen had asked himself this question many times. Dorian had no answer, however.

“I have to deal with his mage, and sooner than later.” He finished. Dorian agreed.

“What are we going to do?”  Dorian asked which had Cullen’s shoulders slumping in relief.

“First, we talk to Bull.” Dorian nodded before sending a page to fetch the man in question.

“Cassandra, I do not expect you to wear another dress.” Bronwynn said to the dark haired Seeker in exasperation. “You wore one at my wedding, I’m quite content with that.”

“Good.” Cassandra said shortly.

“Are you going to tell me who he is?” Bronwynn asked. Cassandra gave her a dark look before leaving Bronwynn’s room in a huff. Bronwynn chuckled while Josephine giggled.

The two had been working on the guest list for the announcement when Cassandra had barged in and demanded to know if she was expected to ‘ _play the noble_ ’ once again.

“Between Sera thinking that she has to have a brand-new wardrobe with every party we throw, Blackwall working on ways to _not_ attend any party we throw or are invited to, and Cassandra insisting she doesn’t need dresses for them, I wonder how in the hell you’ve managed to keep us relevant.” Bronwynn said with true admiration for Josephine.

“Sera’s wardrobe hasn’t changed at all; I merely have it mended unless it actually needs replacing.” Josephine said with a laugh. “Gordon can be persuaded, it just takes the right words.” Her sly grin and slight blush brought a laugh from Bronwynn.

“Well, I’ll have to get used to his absence then.” She told Josephine sagely, which caused them both to laugh.

“And you know Cassandra was mortified to learn her uncle had an artist here to sketch her while she was wearing that dress.” Josephine said.

“I know.” Bronwynn admitted. “And if I’d known he was going to do that I would have vetted his entourage.” She sighed with bemusement. Josephine watched her eyes widen a second before a bulge appeared in her stomach.

“They really want more room.” Josephine said with humor, which got a pillow thrown in her face.

“Elan assures me the gardens and the Yards will be full of color by the time they all begin arriving.” Bronwynn said. Josephine nodded her thanks.

“There are enough of the lesser nobles for Buffon to believe she should be here.” Josephine said as she went over the guest list once again. “I am also quite sure Cole has added at least twenty more pages to the catering.” Bronwynn laughed lightly.

“I think he’s trying to make me as big as this castle.” She replied.

“Ah, but you are looking much healthier now. More color in your cheeks, you’re not moving nearly as slowly as you were a month ago, and you sound as if you have more energy.” Josephine smile beatifically at Bronwynn. “We all want you three to come through this birth well.” Bronwynn chuckled heartily at Josephine.

“Should you decide that my Constable is worthy of marrying; I look forward to saying the same exact thing to you.” Bronwynn replied. Josephine’s amber eyes widened in mock horror.

“Why ever wouldn’t he be worth marrying?” She said, scandalized into laughing. “I haven’t introduced him to my family yet.” She admitted on a more serious note.

“Just remember.” Bronwynn told her, suddenly very somber. “No one else can ever know.” Josephine moved to sit beside the Inquisitor and kissed her cheek.

“You told him why you didn’t turn him in, and I believe you would know better than anyone if it was the right choice.” Josephine replied. “ _ Gordon _ is a good man.”

Bronwynn gave Josephine a watery smile as she suddenly began to cry happily.

“I’m  _ not _ wearing lemon.” She said, to change to a less emotional topic. “I will  _ not _ look like a lemon drop.”

The two kept to lighter topics until Dorian announced himself.

“Ah, how are you managing to find anything amusing when  _ I’m _ not here?” He asked as he tossed himself into a chair after kissing them both on the cheek. When the two began giggling he ran what he’d said through his head and joined in.

“You’ve been keeping my husband hostage.” Bronwynn accused and Dorian gave a dramatic put upon groan.

“I have; and now I must beg your leave to steal him for several weeks.” He replied.

“Why?” Bronwynn asked with suspicion.

“Bull’s birthday is fast approaching…” He started to say, when both women began to pelt him with questions.

“I only found out a few days ago!” He insisted. “And that was by reading his journal when he was on patrol.” He lied with aplomb. They huffed but accepted his answer.

“Anyway,” he said. “I know of place on the Nevarran border that will have several of his favorite foods and beverages, as well as a few other surprises I’d like to get for him.

I’d  _ also _ like to give your husband a chance to do some shopping for you and the twins.” He went on. “After all, he never leaves the Keep.  _ If _ I tell him I need him for guard duty, what with all this mess going on, as well as that I’m shopping for Bull…” he trailed off while waving his hand, and both women nodded their understanding and agreement.

“Very well, kadan.” Bronwynn said with affection. “You’d better bring him home in one piece, hale and whole.” She warned. He grinned at her.

“Well, you’d better let me have your healing potion recipe then.” He said. “After all, no one makes healing potions like you.” Bronwynn laughed at him but gave him one of her potion books. Kissing her and Josephine once more he took his leave, neither suspecting he’d left something very important out of his explanation.

With Iron Bull and Sera both working to keep Bronwynn in the dark about the plan to deal with Marielle; Varric, Dorian, and Cullen made their way to the old dwarven port for a month long trip across the Waking Sea; a trip Cullen was able to enjoy, though Varric complained.

Once they landed in Cumberland, they split up to make shorter work of supplying for their plan.

Cullen sent the crow they’d brought with them back to let Bull know they’d arrived safely. Figuring it would take at least a week for the bird to make it back to the Keep he made plans to meet with the contact Sera had given him.

Several days passed before Cullen was able to learn anything about Marielle’s whereabouts. When he was finally able to track her down, he was unsurprised to learn she’d surrounded herself with Templars; men who’d lost their ability to think for their dependence on lyrium.  

They decide to make use of  _ The Friends of Red Jenny _ ; who were amazingly happy to assist them. It took the group only a day to help set up a meeting between Cullen and the mage.

Cullen, Dorian, and Varric made camp several miles north of Cumberland. The latest crow had borne the message that Marielle had taken the bait and would meet Cullen at a small lake just west of the city.

The three of them rested for a short time before heading to the lake to scout out the area. Once they were sure Varric could both see and stop any Templars the woman would bring with her, they left him to make his preparations.

The sun was an hour past it’s zenith when Cullen called a halt to his and Dorian’s preparations. His voice was so soft, serious, as well as thoughtful, that Dorian made no jokes about his demeanor.

Cullen motioned for Dorian to sit next to him. He placed his sword next to himself, where they sat in silence for nearly half an hour before Cullen began speaking.

“Have you ever _seen_ Bronwynn take a mage’s ability to cast magic?” Cullen asked. Dorian nodded yes with a shiver.

“I have an idea, a rather disturbing idea, on how to deal with Darroch.” Cullen stated after another moment’s silence.

“I am not sure I want to hear this _rather disturbing idea_ of yours,” Dorian replied, “but do go on.”

“Bronwynn won’t teach the technique, which I can’t blame her for.” Cullen answered. “And if she knew what I’m about to tell you she might actually consider murdering me.”

Cullen looked up at the dark blue sky and swallowed deeply before continuing.

“I am willing to teach you how to do this.” He told his friend.

Dorian stared at Cullen blankly for a long time unsure how to respond.

“I’m glad you’re not jumping at the chance.” Cullen said softly. “I’ve been struggling with the idea since we left Skyhold.”

“Why teach _me_?” Dorian asked when he found his voice.

“Because, I know I can trust you not to abuse it.” Cullen told him. “You understand how easily Tranquility was abused. I’ve heard your arguments against using even this technique; and frankly I really don’t want to kill Darroch if I don’t have to.” He finished, sounding slightly desperate.

Dorian raised a hand to indicate he understood while he thought about the implications.

“What is the rest of this idea you have, Cullen?” He asked.

“I talk to her, see if I can get her to understand there’s no chance I’ll leave Bron.” Cullen said. “If I can get her to understand it would never work between her and I, we can arrest her, have her put on trial in Ferelden.” He finished.

From the look of frustration on his handsome face, Dorian was sure Cullen had explored every angle of this meeting and the possible outcomes.

Dorian thought about the deaths he himself had caused throughout the past couple of years, and here before him was a man who’d done so much more. It became a foregone conclusion he’d do this for Cullen.

“Teach me.” He said softly, sure he’d end up using it but needing to give Cullen the peace of mind having the option would give him.

“You’re going to be ill when you realize just how easy this is, my friend.” Cullen told him, seriously. Dorian didn’t really believe him, though he knew it couldn’t be too difficult if an ex-Templar could teach it; even one as educated and talented as this one.

“Visualize where the magic pools inside you.” Cullen instructed, his voice deadpan. Dorian gave a short sound to show he’d done it. “Instead of looking to the fade for that connection, look at where it connects to the body.”

Dorian frowned as he looked at his own magic pool and did as Cullen ordered. He was surprised to see what looked like balls of energy in several places on his body.

“I’ve never noticed this before.” Dorian said, sounding awed. He heard Cullen chuckle before replying.

“Bron had the same reaction when she first saw it.” He said. “It wasn’t until she was trying to save herself and Wynne that she knew for certain what they were.” Cullen took a very audible deep breath before continuing.

“All you need do now is literally separate them from the body.” Cullen finished, sounding ill; Dorian understood why. He’d seen the results of mages losing their magic, and though he preferred leaving them with their wits intact, it was still quite disturbing to watch.

Dorian swallowed hard when he realized Cullen had been serious when he said it was sickeningly easy. He opened his eyes to look at Cullen. It was several moments before any words came to him.

“She’s right, I think.” Dorian finally said. “This would be misused far too easily.” Cullen nodded his agreement.

They heard a sharp whistle from the nearby hills, Varric signaling she was close and broke off their conversation. Dorian nodded at Cullen and moved to the nearby rocks to hide. He was hoping the woman left her Templars behind as far back as the city.

“My Lord Rutherford.” Dorian heard. The voice was clearly feminine, and she was trying hard to sound cultured. Dorian peeked around the boulder to catch sight of her and found himself impressed by her looks.

Granted, she was in no way as beautiful as Bronwynn; but she was pretty. Atop her horse it was hard to gauge her true height, but Dorian was sure she probably matched himself and Cullen in height, meaning she would tower over Bronwynn’s five foot six inch frame. Dorian could also make out tightly outlined curves, he estimated she carried at least thirteen stone in weight. Blond hair and golden tanned skin rounded out her looks, but she seemed almost overblown; as if she were using magic to enhance her appearance.

“Mage Marielle.” Cullen answered. “The years have been kind to you.” Dorian caught himself laughing softly at the gentlemanly way Cullen avoided admitting he didn’t recognize her.

“They have diminished your shine none at all.” The woman said, her voice deepening huskily. She easily dismounted, walking forward once she was on the ground.

Cullen found himself fighting to keep a blank expression as she came towards him, the swing of her hips nearly violent in her obviousness. An errant breeze ruffled her gown and brought to him the scent of her perfume and he nearly coughed in response, it was so heavy.

He could easily see how he’d forgotten her. It didn’t take a mage to see the shimmer of magic around her; clearly, she was using a glamour to make herself more voluptuous.

“Mage Marielle,” he started to say when she got closer, but she interrupted him by _falling_ forward, forcing him to catch her. Once he was holding her arms she leaned forward and kissed him, messily.

Cullen pushed her away from him, stepping back so there was more than an arm’s length between them.

“Cullen?” She asked, a petulant pout twisting her lips. It was not nearly as attractive as she obviously thought.

“Marielle, I want to talk about this.” He said. “I want to help you understand.”

Her face began to twist as he spoke earnestly.

“I love Bronwynn, I have _always_ loved her.” He admitted to the mage.

“Mage Marielle,” he began again, only for her to interrupt him a second time.

“You’ve not come all this way, left the bloodied grasp of that woman, only to keep playing hard to get, have you?” She asked. Now he heard a whisper of venom in her voice, part of him regretted not keeping his sword on him.

“After all,” She hissed. “I have done so much to show you.” Cullen and Dorian both wondered what she could mean.

“Shown me _what_?” Cullen asked, his own voice hard.

“That Bronwynn Amell; that _cunt_ ; is nothing compared to me.” She crowed. “I was able to take her favorite dwarf, her favorite elf and that black bitch Chantry mage away from her!”

“Marielle; none of that happened.” Cullen informed her. “The Arcanist, Sera and Grand Enchanter Vivienne are still very much alive.”

Marielle was shocked to hear this. The glee that had been in her eyes disappeared, she dropped her glamour; revealing a body that had clearly been used hard.

“What do you mean?” She asked, her voice only just audible.

“My wife and I weren’t able to stop all your planned murders but those three didn’t happen.” Cullen said.

“Your _wife_?” she demanded. “ _She_ was supposed to die in the tower!” Her eyes began glowing red. “Uldred _promised_ you would be _mine_! All I had to do was place a few hooks into certain Templars!”

Cullen stepped back, shocked at both what she was saying and the vehemence with which she said it.

“ _No_!” She shouted. “You _had_ to jump in and defend her from the demons!” She made a slashing motion in the air and two envy demons shimmered into existence. Now Cullen really regretted leaving his sword by the fire. A quick glance at the fire showed it was farther back than he’d meant it to be.

“I tried to comfort you when the whore left you!” She shouted. “You wouldn’t even _see me_.” Once again slashed the air before her, two rage demons burst forth. Cullen leapt back and rolled for his sword; to be cut off by one of the envy demons.

“Carroll, Harron, Bryce, Gourdon!” She shouted shrilly. “Bring your soldiers!”

“Vishante kaffas!” Dorian shouted as she dropped yet another spell, one hiding her Templars.

“Venhedis!” Cullen shouted as he rolled right to avoid a strike by the demon; taking him further from his sword.

Dorian threw a shield around himself, tight as he could make it. He wasn’t sure just how competent these Templars were, but he’d been training with Cullen, Cassandra, and the Inquisition for two years now; he was no longer weak to their suppression tactics.

Shouting insults in Tevene, he got the attention of a dozen soldiers, leading them to run straight into a nightmare. Knowing that would buy him at least three minutes before the others turned to him he fade stepped to the fire, grabbing Cullen’s blade and fade stepped to him.

Cullen grunted his thanks as he vaulted from the ground, yanking his sword up from the ground as he righted himself. The experienced Templar directed a smite at the rage demons encroaching on he and Dorian. Being the weaker of the two demon types on the field, they were easily dispatched.

Dorian laughed with malicious glee when a dozen bolts flew over their heads to land between the eyes of a dozen fighters; cutting the mage’s force by a quarter.

“I could use a hand blocking her attacks!” Dorian shouted above the noise of the envy demons as they tried to distract them. Cullen made no sound, merely swept his sword in a half circle in front of them. The remaining demons seemed to lose focus, the Templars halted in mid-step, looking around as well.

Marielle screamed in anger, trying hard to cast but unable to do so. Dorian was impressed with Cullen’s cleansing the area of negative energy and used the short time they had to focus on Marielle.

Before he was able to remove the energy from her he took a solid thump from one of the demons. He shouted another curse in Tevene and whipped up a razor like whirlwind that chewed the demon up.

It was enough of a distraction to refocus the Templars and remaining demon back on them. Thankfully no one knew where the crossbow bolts were coming from, Varric was all that kept the two from being overwhelmed.

Half the Templars were down now. Dorian wrapped another five in ice. Cullen; having grabbed a shield from one of the fallen, bashed into them to clear a path to Marielle.

“Are we still trying to keep her alive, Cullen?” Dorian asked loudly, right beside the fighter.

“Yes, if she gives us the opportunity, take it!” Cullen demanded. Dorian huffed in response, too busy throwing lightning at the remaining demon to give the snarky response he wanted to.

Cullen found himself amazed at the strength his skills carried, even though he’d taken no lyrium before this fight. His eyes focused on the mage before him, easily seeing the energies she was calling up. Dorian was still casting one of his heavier spells, he’d be unable to block what was coming.

Cullen focused through his sword, aiming the tip at the woman. He released his desire to stop her from casting through the weapon and he watched her begin to panic when she realized what he’d done.

Dorian released his spell a second later and turned to the now silent woman.

He felt a moments disorientation as he focused on her aura, the color was wrong, unhealthy. _This is a blood mages aura_ he thought to himself as he found the balls of energy within her aura.

He didn’t hesitate to sever the connections he found, he did find himself quickly smothering the energy in the ground. He wanted nothing to do with it.

Knight-Captain Carroll was the only Templar left to her when she screamed. Dorian found himself holding back the need to vomit from the sound. She knew her magic was gone.

Carroll turned to look at Cullen, his face sunken and slack jawed. Dull eyes stared, unseeing, for a long moment before beginning to blink rapidly.

“Cullen?” The other man’s voice was harsh, unused. “‘Sthat you?”

“Yes, Carroll.” Cullen answered warily.

“She dead?” Carroll asked, his voice filled with hope. It broke Cullen’s heart to hear it. Carroll had been one of the good ones. One of those who had fought hard against the prejudices that filled so many Templars.

“No. She’s going to trial.” Cullen answered thickly. Carroll shook his head no, moaning in pain.

“Ask your friend there, Cul.” Carroll said, his voice hoarse with disuse. “What she did to us.”

Cullen looked at Dorian with confusion. He knew his friend abhorred blood magic, and that was the only way to read another’s mind.

“She wasn’t an abomination.” Dorian said softly. “But she was addicted to blood magic.” He shivered before meeting Cullen’s eyes. “She’d gone so far as to drink their blood to fuel her magic.”

“How do you know?” Cullen asked, confusion clear.

“It’s in her aura.” Dorian answered. “There is no saving her, my friend.”

Cullen looked at the mage, changed his view and saw what Dorian meant. He lowered his head, pain in his heart. He took a deep breath and forced himself to think, clearly.

He’d wanted; more than anything; when he’d been locked up in the tower, to kill his tormentor. The Hero of Ferelden had done it instead, it being the only way to lower the barrier keeping him prisoner.

That desire is part of what fueled him during the years in Kirkwall; knowing he’d never be able to hurt her as she’d hurt him. Here now was Carroll, one of the few surviving Templars from Kinloch; and it was clear he was broken beyond repair. Cullen could give him the chance he himself never had.

Cullen walked up to the man, handing him his own sword.

“I can’t undo what she has done, my friend.” Cullen admitted sadly. “But I can let you avenge yourself.”

Carroll stood before Cullen, dull and slow, for several minutes before seeming to understand what Cullen was offering. He swallowed slowly then turned to face her.

“Bronwynn was always the better woman.” He told her, and though his voice was hoarse, it was strong. “She should have hated all Templars and instead she loved one enough to forgive us all.”

He raised the sword chest high. Marielle sat on her knees on the ground, crying from her loss. He gave her no chance to speak anything that might be asking for forgiveness, driving the point of the sword through the base of her neck, killing her instantly.

“Better than what you gave us.” He then spat. Both Cullen and Dorian swept in to catch him before he could hurt himself. They held him as he cried.

“Are you sure you want to give him this potion?” Dorian demanded. He wasn’t sure he was comfortable with _Cullen_ asking a spirit for a recipe.

“It will only be enough to keep him functional until we get back to Skyhold.” Cullen answered irritably. It had been far too easy to get Knowledge to share that recipe with him.

“What bee has gotten into your bonnet, Curly?” Varric asked.

“I got what I wanted, and it bothers me, okay?” he snapped. When Varric’s eyes widened and he raised his hands placatingly Cullen sighed. “I’m sorry, Varric. I just didn’t expect the spirit to so easily give me that recipe.”

“You didn’t expect a spirit to give you what you wanted?” Varric asked, confused.

“Bronwynn used this potion once. When she thought I was dead.” His voice was devoid of emotion. “I asked her to destroy it because I never thought I would ask for it, especially to use on a fellow Templar.”

“You do realize she is quite able to see the shape poor Carroll is in, yes?” Dorian asked. Cullen looked up at the Templar in question as he thought about his answer.

Solas had explained once, that for the Spirits, there really is no distance involved when they travelled. Thus, the reason he’d taken the chance to ask if knowledge was near.

He could hear, softly, her own sorrow as she answered the question he hadn’t thought to ask. He thanked her again, this time more sincerely, before admitting he hadn’t thought of that.

“We’ve got a long trip ahead of us, Cul.” Dorian said. “Let’s go home.”

“After we do some shopping.” Cullen said seriously. “I would be skinned alive with fire and ice if I was caught so blatantly in a lie.”

“Your fear of your tiny wife is quite amusing.” Dorian quipped.

“Imagine if Bull decided you needed to sleep somewhere other than your nice warm bed, next to him.” Cullen said dryly.

“There are other rooms in the Keep.” Varric laughed.

“Umm, Varric.” Dorian said. “I know that Bull would barricade the door to keep me inside the room, he wouldn’t want me out of his hearing.”

“What?”

“The advantage to being single, Varric,” Cullen said. “Is not having to worry about angering a partner.”

“The chairs and couches in the Keep are comfortable unless you _have_ to sleep on them.” Dorian went on in a horrified note.

“With your delectable lover only a few feet away.” Said Cullen with humor.

The three made sure their charge was as comfortable as he could be strapped to the horse so he wouldn’t fall and made their way back to Cumberland to begin their trip home.

Bronwynn and Cassandra had made their way to the battlements over the drawbridge. Midsummer was closing in, and even in the peaks of the Frostback Mountains the sun warmed the air nicely.

Bronwynn enjoyed walking with Cassandra more than the others only because she didn’t hover at Bronwynn’s side the way the others did. Though she was still as attentive as they all were at this stage of her pregnancy.

“Are we sure there aren’t any…”

“Peace, Bronwynn.” Cassandra said with a laugh. “I have sent the Seekers in training to patrol the route to make sure they make it home safely.” Bronwynn grinned in chagrin.

“I miss my husband.” She replied wistfully. Cassandra reached out with her left arm and embraced Bronwynn tightly.

“I understand.” Was all she said, far more reassuring to Bronwynn than Cassandra would have believed.

“Tell me about the Seekers, Cassandra. How are the new policies holding up?”

Cassandra sighed in frustration as she leaned forward to place her elbows on the crenellation.

“The senior Seekers we have managed to locate and bring to the fortress are tired.” Cassandra told her. “Tired of the fighting, of the lies and secrecy.

They have all read the Book of Secrets and like myself they are angry and disappointed in the Chantry and the order.”

“And?” Bronwynn asked.

“It is agreed we will show the book to all who wish to become Seekers. If they agree to the rituals, once their training is done, they will have to pass several tests to ensure they are worthy.”

“Who administers the tests?” Bronwynn asked, truly curious.

“Three of the senior Seekers have agreed to keep working with us; they will do so.” Cassandra sounded quite pleased. Bronwynn smiled with relief. She worried greatly about this friend of hers, so serious and duty bound she often failed to find enjoyment.

“Then you _will_ be able to stay for the festivities?” Bronwynn asked, letting her voice fill with hope.

Cassandra turned bright brown eyes to Bronwynn and laughed heartily as she nodded yes. Bronwynn’s whoop of joy brought smiles to those nearby. Her people were anticipating this midsummer festival as well.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Bull strode through the Great Hall, smiling at the maids and nodding to the footmen as he went. He was grateful for his part in getting ready for this event as it allowed him to keep his mind off what Dorian may be doing.

It also kept him from worrying about him getting hurt.

He was on his way to let Bronwynn know the three were spotted on the road leading up to Skyhold. They would be here in under a week, which he knew would relieve her as much as it did him. He had no idea how their mission had turned out and since Bronwynn didn’t  _ know _ about their mission he couldn’t discuss it with her.

“I am sure, Bann Donall, His Majesty would be assured to know you and your wife are as close as you  _ can _ be to his own rooms.” Bull heard Josephine saying patiently as he strode close. The very fat man with hair so fiery red it was nearly orange, and he’d managed to make natural curls appear quite unnatural in their stiffness.

“Ambassador.” Bull said, making his voice much deeper and louder than he usually spoke. “I have been asked to bring you to Her Radiance, His Majesty, and Her Worship in Her quarters.” Josephine narrowed her eyes at Bull for that confusing sentence. She  _ knew _ the three were in Bronwynn’s room but she suspected he had said it just so to get the Bann to ask the obvious question.

And of course he asked.

“Which _her_?”

Bull looked _down_ at the Bann, his good eye narrowing as he gave the man a scathing look, which sent him scuttling for the table furthest from the Qunari. Bull gave Josephine a look full of pride and mischief.

“ _How_ do you expect me to keep the peace when you play such mean jokes on the poor fools?” Josephine asked softly as she preceded him to Bronwynn’s temporary quarters.

“That man has approached you three times in one day to try and get his rooms moved so that he’s closer to King Alistair.” Bull answered. “It was either I give him a slight scare or Sera does much worse.” Josephine groaned at the thought.

“Then I thank you.” She replied, though she sounded not so grateful. Bull just laughed softly before opening the door for her.

“You actually think Sten is going to show up?” Alistair was asking as they entered.

“Sten?” Josephine asked.

“The Arishok.” Bronwynn, Bull, and Alistair answered simultaneously, before laughing together.

“How well do you know him?” Bull asked Alistair, curiosity evident.

“Cousland and I freed him from the Chantry at the beginning of the Blight.” Alistair answered. “We met again shortly after he became Arishok.” The King shrugged. “I suppose I know him as well as any Qunari will allow themselves to be known outside their jobs.”

An answer Bull could understand. The people of the Qun were careful as to who they opened up to.

“One of the _Salasari_ will be here.” Bronwynn nodded. “We’re not sure which one, but _one_ will be.” She shrugged before saying more.

“I’ve gotten word that the Arishok is the one who is most likely to come, but then again, the Ariqun could send one of the Ben-Hassrath.” Bull snorted soft laughter and the others looked at him curiously.

“There are rumors the new Arishok is somewhat sentimental, if he knows King Alistair is here he will likely show.” Bull told them. Alistair gave a wide grin at the thought.

“He owes me a chess game!” he said with glee. Bronwynn laughed lightly at her friend.

“I’ll have a table ready in the hall by tomorrow.” Josephine said before Bronwynn could say anything.

“What do you know of this Marquis?” Celine asked to change the subject as well as to bring herself into the conversation.

“Buffon.” Bronwynn said, her voice drying into strict seriousness.

“She’s made several threats against Her Worship.” Josephine advised.

“She’s also directly responsible for several deaths here in my Keep.” Bronwynn said.

“Why not just kill her?” Celine asked. “It would be more practical.” Bronwynn laughed dryly at the question.

“I thought about it, true, Your Radiance.” She touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip before answering further.

“You sent Florianne to me to be judged after her attempt on your life.” Bronwynn reminded her.

“Then you set her to be a servant.” Celine said disdainfully. “Not the outcome I was hoping for.”

“Then you should have judged her for yourself, Your Eminence.” Bronwynn answered sarcastically. “Death is not always the most effective deterrent.”

“True.” Alistair interjected. “Often it creates greater complications.”

Bronwynn nodded to show her agreement with the King.

“All I ask of the two of you, Your Majesties, is you _cut_ her once she approaches you; should she be brave enough to do so.” Bronwynn looked at the two leaders and waited. She was fairly certain Celine would have no qualms ignoring the woman, she despised those who played the Game badly; and this woman was very bad at playing the game.

Alistair was another question entirely. She remembered him as being far too friendly for his own good sometimes. He especially hated to see women upset.

“What do you expect to happen?” Celine asked. It was clear she was unsure how Bronwynn played the Game; she was only certain that Bronwynn was a master of it.

“Humiliation, Your Radiance.” Bronwynn answered simply.

“If that is what you wish, I see no problem with ignoring the woman.” Celine replied. Rising, she bowed her head when the others did the same. “Excuse me, Countess.” She went on. “I find the cold air has made me sleepy.”

Bronwynn and Josephine curtsied deeply, while the men gave deep bows of their own.

When the door was closed behind her, Alistair spoke softly.

“That woman scares the Abyss out of me.”

“So, no marriage, then?” Bronwynn asked sardonically. Alistair laughed in return.

“I have missed your wit, Bron.” He said with a fond smile. “I also owe you a long overdue apology.”

“Make it up to me by helping me now.” She said to him. “As much as I would _love_ for you to grovel, this will be more productive.”

Neither of her advisors knew what they were talking about, but it was clear Bronwynn knew what Alistair meant.

“Just make sure I know who she is and what she looks like and it’s done.” He responded. “Though since she’s Orlesian, why in the world would she be devastated by _my_ cutting her?”

“You’re a King.” Bronwynn, Josephine, and Bull said in unison.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Bronwynn stood at the head of her receiving line smiling happily for all the guests. The glacier blue gown was offset by the emeralds she wore around her neck and wrists.

The guests staying at the Keep were introduced first, so all would definitely know who they were. Bronwynn had a feeling that the Landsmeet in Ferelden that year would be rife with both scandal and gossip as Celine and Alistair were announced together.

The Tevinter ambassador was announced along with several Magister, these were thankfully Magisters Gereon assured were not blood mages. Bronwynn was happy to find they were far more resourceful than most, especially as they didn’t use tainted magic.

The guests from Rivain all congratulated her on the upcoming birth, though they said it quietly with large smiles. Bronwynn accepted with conspiratorial smiles of her own.

From Antiva came all twelve of the Merchant Princes and their wives. Behind them came Isabella and Hawke, which prompted a squeal of joy from Bronwynn as she hadn’t expected to see him so soon.

King Markus of Nevarra sent several of his personal Mortalitasi in his stead, including Cassandra’s uncle. Bronwynn made note of this as it meant he’d managed to gain even more influence.

This celebration brought the Lord Chancellor of Tantervale, the Margrave of Ansburg and the Teyrn of Ostwick as representative of the Free Marches.

No one expected her to greet those of lessor status after the two hours she spent greeting the royalty, so she was free to join her guests in the great hall, where she then had to make excuses for her husband’s lateness.

“Should he not be here with you, where he is most needed?” One of the Magister's asked slyly. Bronwynn’s laughter was light and pleasant.

“My husband performs _all_ his duties beyond admirably, Magister.” She said with pride, before walking away.

Cullen and his party rode through the gate to find the grounds well lit.

“Damn, we’re late.” Cullen groused as servants ran to help them. He gave orders as to the gifts, asking they be made ready. Dorian and Varric followed him to the barracks where they were met by Solas and Cassandra.

“We have your baths ready, as well as your clothes. Come up through the Atrium, it will prevent more questions.” Solas said as Cassandra made quick work of loosening Cullen’s armor.

Nodding gratefully, the men quickly made themselves presentable.

Entering the Hall from the Atrium kept the men from drawing too much attention to their entrance. Cullen took a moment to find Bronwynn in the crowd before moving to join her. The smile she bestowed him once he placed his hand on the small of her back settled something deep inside his chest.

He joined her in mingling with their guests, shaking Alistair’s hand and thanking him for saving his life at Kinloch Hold.

He and Bronwynn made it clear that her actions throughout Thedas were not meant to further the Inquisition, she merely felt a responsibility to continue closing the rifts to make it safer for all of Thedas, regardless of where the rifts had formed.

Midnight was approaching, and the guests were assembling in the Throne Room, where Bronwynn and Cullen waited to make their highly anticipated announcement.

“Most honored guests.” Cullen started. “Thank you so much for joining us this evening.” He bowed deeply to the Royals that stood before them.

“Not long ago many of you joined us to celebrate our joining, despite how controversial the marriage and your approval of it.” He went on.

“Tonight, we announce the Maker’s second blessing in our lives.” He finished, giving way for Bronwynn to speak.

“The Maker has blessed us with a child!” Bronwynn announced happily, tears filling her eyes and her voice.

The hall was filled with silence for only a brief second before erupting into joyus cries and applause. Alistair was the first to reach them with hearty congratulations, going so far as to hug Bronwynn tightly before pumping Cullen’s hand several times.

Throughout the evening Bronwynn passed Marquis Buffon, the woman was clearly out of her depth. Now she was trying to make her way through the throng and found herself stymied by the higher-ranking nobles.

She managed to find a way around them, to stand beside Celine and Alistair after several minutes. A natural break in the conversation gave her a chance to interject her thoughts on the pregnancy to find herself completely ignored. None of them even looked toward her when she spoke.

She tried once again when Alistair was speaking to several of his own nobles, to have it happen a second time, and this time one of her equals caught it happening.

“A  _ dog-lover _ ?” The woman asked incredulously. “Did a  _ filthy dog-lover _ just give you the cut?” Her cackling laugh filled the area before Buffon could say anything. Alistair moved on before the laughter drew a crowd.

Bronwynn and Cullen watched as the Marquis found herself mocked and humiliated, both for being snubbed by the King of Ferelden and her assertions that she had the ability to see to Bronwynn’s death.

Bronwynn nodded to Sera as the woman ran from the room. Buffon’s death wasn’t necessary to keep herself safe, but she wasn’t about to deny Sera’s right to avenge the attempt on Dagna.

“I can promise, Sten, this is cake.” Bronwynn heard from her left. She turned to see Alistair and the Arishok standing over the desserts table.

“How can I be certain you are not …” He seemed to search for a word. “ _Joshing_ me?”

Bronwynn made her way to their side, finding one of her favorite chocolate petit fours and popping it in her mouth.

“Indeed, Arishok, these are cakes. Tiny cakes.” She said after swallowing. “What is your favorite flavor?” She asked.

“Cinnamon.” He answered. She smiled, grabbed a plate and filled it with a dozen of the petits of that flavor. He bit carefully into one. His eyes nearly crossed with pleasure.

“I think,” Alistair said when he reached out and took the tray with the rest of the cakes on it. “That perhaps we’ve introduced him to temptation.” Bronwynn laughed lightly as she rejoined her husband in mingling.

The next several days were filled with games, feasts, and concerts leading up to Summerday. The final celebration for the day saw Bronwynn, Cullen, Celine, and Alistair handing out prizes for the events.

The Keep was void of all guests before night fell, leaving Bronwynn alone with her husband for the first time.

“I am not sure I like this.” Bronwynn said sleepily. “Just us and the staff.” Cullen chuckled in response.

“Our friends have families and responsibilities of their own.” He reminded her. She nodded her understanding but smiled sadly.

“I know they all said they’d be back by the fall.” She went on. “But I didn’t really expect them  _ all _ to leave at once.”

Cullen picked her up and placed her on their bed before joining her and pulling her close.

“Solas and Cole will be back by the end of the month.” He reminded her. “Rhys has asked them to find a group of herbs for your studies.

Varric is only going to be gone long enough to get the re-construction moving again since it stalled out with him not being there.”

“He’ll be voted Viscount and I won’t see him until we visit the Free Marches.” Bronwynn pouted, bringing more laughter from Cullen.

“You forget, my heart, Dorian and Bull went with him; he’ll be back if only to pawn them back on us.”

“You’re glad they’re all gone.” she pouted some more.

“Yes.” He admitted. “Because I would like to spend time with my wife that isn’t interrupted by our friends.”

**Author's Note:**

> Aurlana is like the absolute bestest, ever. If you haven't read her Cocktails and Cheese story arc you should, w/o her Dorian and Bull would have very boring sex. Also, this story would have zero improvement. Love you D.G.


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